


Bucket List

by clownsick, MoonFlesh (Jitterbugfever)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dissociation, Heists, Hurt/Comfort, Life Partners, M/M, Masturbation, No Actual Character Death, Seasickness, Slow Burn, Torture, Violence, Voyeurism, comments on roadhog's weight, mentions of illness, radiation poisoning, violence against omnics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-01-03 23:05:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12156651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clownsick/pseuds/clownsick, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jitterbugfever/pseuds/MoonFlesh
Summary: The after effects of the war are catching up with Roadhog and his days are looking a lot more numbered. Content to spend the rest of them causing chaos and mayhem, the Junkers head out of Australia. When Junkrat is targeted by Talon, the party comes to a crashing halt.(No character death)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are couple of things we wanted to touch on before we get this show on the road. First off, Roadhog is not going to die in this fic, but it will still have him dealing with the severity of his illness. Obviously, a story about someone who's close to death is going to involve some heavier themes, but the overall tone of the story should be pretty lighthearted. Junkrat calls Roadhog fat, like he does in the comics. Not really sure how to tag that because it's not meant offensively, so if anyone knows an appropriate tag let us know. 
> 
> We really love these two and want to do them justice, so thanks for taking the time to read!

Roadhog had known since the rebellion that he was going to die. Nobody ventured into that sort of battlefield, inhaled those sorts of chemicals, and came out on the other side. After the Australian Liberation Front failed, his life had been forfeit. He had wondered, years too late, whether or not that knowledge had influenced any of his decisions while they were going to sabotage the fusion core. The thought never met a conclusion because he never followed it very far. It wouldn’t change anything and it certainly wouldn’t bring back Australia.

It was a thought he came back to from time to time, though. His life had changed drastically since coming to live in Junkertown, getting kicked out, touring the world with the equivalent of a talking tumor. If anything, all the galavanting and looting had shortened his lifespan, but it hadn’t really mattered when he was living alone in that dilapidated shack of a house. The reason why it might now was another thought he never bothered to follow to its conclusion.

“Oi, can we get a move on?” Junkrat was limping back to the sidecar from some bushes where he’d been taking a piss, zipping up his shorts and climbing into the sidecar. “I’m baking alive out here.”

Roadhog clambered onto his motorcycle, the machine sinking under his weight. He was about to turn the ignition when Junkrat thrust his human arm up in his face, showing him a peeling red splotch.

“Think my sunburn’s cancerous, mate?” Roadhog stared at it, trying to recapture the thoughts that had been shifting around in his consciousness before Junkrat had returned. The arm was shaken in front of him impatiently. “You listening to me, ya drongo?”

Roadhog tilted his head, contemplating the red splotch through the limited gaze of his mask. He finally grunted and, without indicating which inquiry he was responding to, gave a gruff, “Probably.”

“What’s that mean you fat tub of lard?” Any other disagreeable comments were drowned out by the revving of the engine, followed by a sharp ‘oof’ as Junkrat was thrown back into the sidecar. He grumbled as Roadhog directed the bike recklessly back onto the road but didn’t bother asking for further clarification.

A few minutes of sulky silence followed, a lull that sometimes occurred and which Roadhog suspected might be Junkrat’s misguided idea of a punishment. All Roadhog had to do was wait it out, focusing instead on the rough path that could barely be called a highway. Flashes of bushes blurred by but other than that it really was a wasteland, something that had barely been worth fighting for in the first place.

A memory tingled at the back of his skull from years too far back to be worth remembering, driving down a similar road through what had felt like an endless night. He briefly recaptured a taste of the way it had felt, breathing in the cold air and dust like the last living thing in all the world and what a damn relief it had been to pretend he had been.

The bubble was shattered as Junkrat deemed he’d had enough and the downpour of words started back up. “No need to sulk in silence like that, mate. I’m not mad or nothing. I know how sometimes you have a hard time paying attention. That’s what you’ve got me around for! To keep track of…”

And just like that the words trailed off, Junkrat’s expression closing in like the apocalypse. It went on for a while until the look in his eyes became hollowed. Roadhog gave a grunt and Junkrat snapped out of it, fussing around in the sidecar like it hadn’t happened.

After a moment he turned on a radio, fussing around with the buttons until a station finally came in, barely audible even while blaring under the sound of the motorcycle. The tinny, stringent sound of poorly picked up pop music grated on Roadhog’s nerves and he sped up. Junkrat drowned it out with singing, surprisingly on-key considering the rest of the mess pawning itself off as a human being.

Junkrat cut himself off halfway through a chorus to shout at Roadhog. “I can’t believe they didn’t let us back in! Where the hell are we supposed to go now? Any thoughts, mate? We still got some of the gold!”

Though they had left most of it in front of the gate once the “guards” had begun shooting. Junkrat hadn’t put out the bombs, though, and they had gone off when they were just far enough to receive minimal debris. Served them right. What gold they had now, several sacks in the bottom of the sidecar, was hardly worth anything in the Outback.

“Could go back to Japan, get some more of those uhh, those little thingies you liked. Or go back to Mexico. I’d kill for some good food. Though with those bounties on our heads-- I’ve got it! We’ll turn ourselves in, take the money, then blow our way out of there! How’s that sound?”

It sounded like shit. Roadhog didn’t bother slowing down as he turned his head towards Junkrat, giving him a long stare.

“What do you mean, that won’t- Oooooh, right! They wouldn’t give _us_ the money, the stingy bastards. Good call. Knew I kept you around for a reason!” The whole bike veered precariously as they hit a particularly deep pothole but Junkrat remained unperturbed, scratching his patchy hair as Roadhog corrected their path with a practiced jerk of the wrist. “Well I’m all out of good ideas. It’s your turn to come up with something. And it’d better be good!”

Roadhog replied by rolling his shoulders and grunting. Junkrat scoffed, digging below his feet to grab his latest creation, which was currently nothing more than a hunk of useless junk. He shook it in Roadhog’s face, long torso stretching out so he was as obnoxious as humanly possible. The latter responded by smacking him away as one might a fly. “Of course we need to leave Australia, that doesn’t count diddly as a plan of action! This is why I’m the brains of this operation and you’re just the meat.”

The lack of a response did nothing to deter his mindless yammering as Junkrat tried, for not the first time, to scratch together their next plan of action. “If we’re not allowed back in, Australia’s out. No interest in sticking around here if there aren’t any mech battles to look forward to. Guess that means we’re going back on a boat.”

Roadhog grunted at that. It felt like they had just finished the last boat trip. Unless you had access to a private jet, or anything military, anyone trying to get out of what remained of the country by air was straight up fucked. On the other hand, getting passage on a cargo ship cost next to nothing, but lasted what felt like forever.

“Aw, it’s not so bad, mate. Nothing boring about sailing, except all the endless water bit. And the crummy food. And being told noooo you can’t steer the ship. Promise I’ll hold your hair back when you get sea sick this time.”

That earned him a look of disapproval that could be felt behind the mask, accompanied by a wheeze. “What do you mean I don’t get to touch your hair? You’re being a big baby is what you’re- Fine! Don’t have to take that tone with me. Jeez, talk about touchy.”

Junkrat rolled his eyes dramatically, looking momentarily possessed before slumping back into the sidecar. “So that just leaves where we should stop off. Didn’t sound like you had any preferences. Could always go to New Zealand. Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you, you damn kiwi?”

The look Junkrat received was decidedly less weighted now, but it didn’t change the fact that he was wrong as hell. It took him a moment to twig on. “I know the boats don’t go to New Zealand, but they would if we hijacked ‘em. Then set the whole bloody place on fire! Phah, fine, I didn’t want to go there anyways.”

Junkrat stuck his foot and peg leg up on the front of the sidecar, sinking into a comfortable sulk. The song on the radio ended and a new one popped on. Roadhog considered telling him to change it off of the oldies, but decided it wasn’t worth expending the effort. “Oi, shut up, mate! You shut your mouth when Gwen is singing!”

The woman’s high key voice rang above the sound of the bike, immediately covered by Junkrat matching her pitch. They drove like this for a while, falling into their usual lull. Roadhog had become entrenched in the memory of sea waves that made his stomach twist itself inside out when Junkrat’s shrill voice cut through the last few notes of the song, “Oi, I’m Gwen and you’re the bloke.”

The words gave Roadhog pause and he shot a sidelong glance at him, a low growl rumbling its way from his chest. “No, I’m Gwen, you’re the bloke.”

Junkrat’s mouth fell open, as if prepared to argue, and then his head fell back as he let out a cackle, the sound building and carrying over minced pop music and the roar of the motorcycle. It rang out for a long time, as earnest as it was robust, until it devolved into a fit of giggles.

“Too roight,” he finally agreed. Roadhog revved the engine and they picked up speed, Junkrat hooting over the sound. The sun beat down on them as they cut a path through the desert.

-

Other than Junkertown, the only semblance of civilization left outside of the omnic cities were small towns that had been hit minimally by the fallout from the war, barely holding themselves together and always on the verge of collapse. The two entered such a town around nightfall, barely lit by lanterns and artificial light, but bustling enough to make them seem less conspicuous than they might normally appear. They were quick to find what was clearly the only functional establishment there, a dingy bar with a tattered sign, and were treated with quiet distrust by the barkeeper.

Greasy food was thrown on the table in front of them, as well as two glasses of unidentifiable liquid. Junkrat downed his before taking a good look around the bar. “This place is dead boring. I bet we could liven it up a little, what do you say?”

Roadhog grunted, lifting his mask to take a bite of the slop, and growled at him, “Stay out of trouble.”

“I know, I know. But come on, mate, we’ve been riding all day and I for one am bored out of my skull.”

“No,” Roadhog laid out flatly.

Junkrat’s gaze swung away from the dingy bar to gape at him. It wasn’t often his eyes focused on any one thing for more than a few seconds--with the exception of an explosion--but they rested on him then. “Jeez Louise, what’s crawled up your fat arse and died? You’re always up for a bit of mischief.”

“Not tonight,” was the terse reply.

Junkrat continued to stare with growing suspicion but Roadhog went on shoveling down food like he didn’t notice. He finally huffed and splayed out in his seat like a child. “Sometimes you suck the life right out of a room.”

Roadhog didn’t respond, his eyes moving sidelong towards the man that had entered shortly after them and was nursing a drink from a corner table. The bastard probably had assumed the two wouldn’t recognize him for what he was but Roadhog could smell out a bounty hunter from a mile away. It was only a matter of time before the shithead made some kind of move and he wanted to scarf his food down before it could happen. If the rat started making a commotion preemptively it would only end in a missed meal.

The silence was causing Junkrat to become jittery, on edge without a bang to look forward to. His hands shook as he ate, eyes darting around the bar as if looking for a reason to make someone a target. His flesh foot tapped anxiously next to Roadhog, soon followed by the thunking of his peg leg. Roadhog imagined taking a swipe and knocking him clean off the chair, but was too married to the idea of finishing his meal to consider it seriously. He shoved him with his leg in warning.

“Roight, okay then.” Junkrat played nervously with his food between pathetic attempts to get it down. “I’ve gotta do _something_. You can’t expect me to just sit here while you load up on that slop. Give me something-- anything-- let’s decide where we’re going! You left me hanging before, so let’s hear it.”

Roadhog gave him nothing. Junkrat made a frustrated sound deep in his throat and tapped his metal fingers sharply against the table. “Back to Mexico it is! If you’re not good for it. They’ll snatch us up for sure. Fine, then where? We’re not going anywhere with omnics, mate, you can’t make me.”

Roadhog grunted loudly, kindly indicating he should shut the fuck up. Half the bar was privy to their half-baked scheme at that point and the bounty hunter had just gulped down the last of his drink. Junkrat tittered, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to catch his drift. “Remember that group of omnics we did in before we left Dorado? Now there was a place that knew what to do with tin cans. Sure you don’t want to go another round up there?”

The man pushed his drink aside and Roadhog’s ears pricked from the telltale clink of ice. He eyed the last few spoonfuls of food on his plate with a tinge of resentment, knowing if things dragged out they would get cold. A loud huff left him as he reached up, yanking his gasmask back down.

“What’s with the cold shoulder, big guy? Are you that against going back to Mexico? Fine! You big old drama queen. If you have somewhere you want to go instead just say-”

Roadhog’s hand shot out, grabbing the back of Junkrat’s head and shoving it down onto the table just in time to keep a bullet from lodging itself in his skull. There was a gasp of silence as the wood of a nearby post splintered before the jaded, mostly-drunk patrons resumed their rabble. Junkrat grunted, seemingly unaware of the brush with death. “Oi! What’s the big idea?”

He turned his face towards the man, now standing and holding a smoking pistol pointed in his direction. “The bounty says they’ll take you dead or alive. Next time I won’t miss, so I advise you and your little friend come quietly.”

Roadhog hefted himself up out of his seat, pulling his pants up his ass as he reached for his hook. The bounty hunter had just opened his mouth up to no doubt spout some more bullshit when he thrust it out, chain rattling sharply as the hook snagged him by the waist. Roadhog pulled him over with a sharp flick and caught him by the front of his shirt, pulling him close to his mask.

The man let out a belated shout, terror filling his eyes before bravado could cover it. There was a small surge of amusement in Roadhog’s belly, but it fizzled out quickly with the annoyance this man was proving to be. He gave him a sharp shove, throwing him into a table of drunk, arguing men. “ _Fuck off._ ”

Silence filled the bar, so quiet that the slight creaks of the chairs seemed deafening as disgruntled people turned in the direction of the bounty hunter. It only lasted a moment. The drunks at the table he’d been flung into were quick to turn their frustrations on him, one smashing a bottle haphazardly over his shoulder then receiving a punch from their friend. It didn’t take a minute for the scuffling to escalate into a full scale bar fight. Roadhog decided he was satisfied with that outcome and shifted back onto his seat, returning to his now lukewarm food.

Junkrat giggled beside him, fumbling in his pockets for something to throw into the fray. “About time we got some excitement! Thought I was about to outright die of boredom.”

If he had experienced even the slightest tingle of concern, it certainly didn’t show. Not that it mattered to Roadhog. It was his job to make sure the little shit didn’t bite the bullet and it spoke well of his efforts that Junkrat never batted an eyelash at such attempts on his life.

Roadhog wheezed quietly as he tugged the mask back up to finish eating, not finding the rising chaos around them to be disagreeable. The dingy spoon had just been shoved into his mouth when another shot rang out, the cheap glass of his plate exploding across the table as the last remnants of slop splattered over his arm. The caterwauling in the room had only risen in fervor but the world around Roadhog closed in like a pinprick and became deadly silent as he stared, teeth clinking sharply against the spoon.

The bounty hunter seethed from a few feet away, sporting a black eye so fresh it had barely started to turn purple. “You sonuvabitch!”

Junkrat held a burning match a mere inch from the wick of a cherry bomb, eyes wide. The shock lasted only a second before a truly nefarious grin sliced its way across his face and he touched the flame to the wick. “Ooh, shouldn’t have done that, mate. My friend doesn’t like it when people fuck with his food.”

He cackled, casually tossing the cherry bomb in the bounty hunter’s direction. The man fumbled, using his forearm to bat it towards two men grappling on the floor where it gave a sharp bang. In the same breath Roadhog heaved himself onto his feet, grabbing the edge of the table and throwing it at the man with a battle cry.

The bounty hunter’s expression fell just before the table hit. He was sent toppling backwards, struggling under the weight as Roadhog advanced on him with heavy stomps. The table was lifted only for the unfortunate bastard to be grabbed by the neck and raised clean off the ground, held with a huge, meaty hand. It closed around his throat, making him gasp for air as he clawed at Roadhog’s arm.

“ _Squeal_.” The word came harshly from behind the mask as Roadhog forced his thumb unforgivingly against the man’s trachea. He couldn’t even do that, mouth gaping open soundlessly like a fish. It was pathetic and Roadhog’s patience had been tried too many times to let this go. He tilted his head at him, waiting for him to stop struggling.

When pain erupted across Roadhog’s neck he wasn’t sure at first what had happened, only that it felt like someone had taken a knife to it. Then it registered that the man, in his violent jerking, had managed to knee him square in the throat. He tried to pull in a breath of air to yell, but instead felt his grip weakening on the bounty hunter. He dropped from the grip and gasped weakly, fighting to push himself across the floor as Roadhog staggered precariously in front of him.

Roadhog’s hand hovered in front of his throat as he struggled to pull in air, waiting for his breathing to ease, but the tightness refused to relinquish its hold. Bright spots started swirling in his vision and he finally reached for one of the gas canisters, only to find there were none. For a second all he could do was grapple for one, left in disbelief he’d made such a huge oversight. It was followed by a brief, staggering thought:

_When did I become so reliant on them?_

In a fit of hacking and wheezing, Roadhog became unable to balance his weight and went crashing to the ground. His nails clawed uselessly against his throat, thoughts collapsing in on themselves at the rate he could form them. The bounty hunter, who had been waiting just as expectantly for Roadhog’s second wind, noted at about the same time that it wouldn’t be coming.

A nasty, hoarse laugh was mostly drowned in the ruckus of the collective bar losing its shit around them as the man struggled back onto his feet. He moved at a staggered pace, head swinging back to dodge a flying bottle. When he spoke his voice was raw, “What’s this? Already wore yourself out, fatass?”

“Oi!” Junkrat’s voice rung out just behind Roadhog’s heaving shoulder. “Did you just call my friend a fatass?”

Junkrat leapt over his frame, the peg leg taking the brunt of the weight as the gaggle of limbs advanced on the man, who looked less than concerned. “Need me to say it again, shit for brains? I’ve got a bullet for you and that fatass friend of yours-”

Whatever else he’d meant to say was cut off as something heavy struck his chest, winding him. Even through his blurring vision Roadhog recognized the hunk of parts Junkrat had been working on earlier that day. “No one calls him fatass but _me_!”

A blinding light suddenly flashed, followed by a deafening blast as the scrap ball blew, sending the bounty hunter flying into one of the dirty windows which shattered on impact. Junkrat’s delighted cackling was the first thing that could be heard after the ringing began to dissipate. It grew louder as Junkrat limped back over to Roadhog, pushing on his side with his peg leg.

“Get up, mate, show’s over.” Another sharp jab sent pain through Roadhog’s side and he wheezed, the thought of swiping Junkrat’s feet out from under him half-forming in his mind then fading away. The room swam and he desperately dug his fingers against his throat as if there was something lodged against it. “Don’t be so dramatic. Come on, we’ll get you more food, how about that?”

Junkrat hobbled over to crouch down by his mask, giving him a quizzical look. He spoke to him again, but the words were muffled and swam around his ears, making Roadhog feel nauseous. He was shoved a few more times before the rat’s expression began to twist in confusion, then alarm. He yelled something at him, shaking his arm, then reaching up to tug at the gasmask.

The base was lifted off of Roadhog’s chin and he took in a sharp breath of unfiltered air, immediately breaking into coughs again. He managed to reach up and clumsily slam it back over his face. Junkrat watched with wide, stricken eyes, then suddenly rose to his feet, shouting what might have been reassurances as he hobbled out of sight.

The edges around Roadhog’s vision started to go black, the flames caused by Junkrat’s explosion shimmering surreally in his vision. Some stubborn kernel inside him insisted he had to do something, that there was no way he was going to kick it in some shitty bar because of what amounted to an asthma attack. With a great deal of effort he rolled to his side, intending to push himself up, but his limbs were shaky and refused to be burdened with his weight.

Amid the struggle for air and the pain cloying through him, Roadhog found himself face to face with the god of death and found it wasn’t very metal.

The world around Roadhog had become nothing more than a series of shadows, pulling him downwards, when he was assaulted by a burst of chemicals. They were drawn down into his body, kickstarting his system and making him cough violently. His body greedily sucked in the man-made taste that mingled on each fresh draw of oxygen, lungs floundering to regain their purpose.

Gradually the world regained shape and color, and the first thing Roadhog was able to make sense of was Junkrat’s frightened expression. “Are you with me, mate? Come on, say something you fucking bastard!”

Roadhog heaved himself up onto his side again, forced his burning muscles to get him on his knees.The chemicals had him moving and quieted the muscles screaming at him to collapse again. It was a journey making it up from the floor, but he finally stood, leaning his weight precariously against a chair that creaked under his hand. He remained crouched, sucking in air until the burning in his lungs began to subside, then began to lumber towards the door.

“Come on.”

Junkrat followed, darting out of the way when it seemed that he would fall again. Roadhog managed to stay upright and forced himself out of the bar, recoiling at the filtered night air. The barkeeper had enough sense not to follow them for payment. Junkrat skittered at his side, for once at a loss for words.

Operating any sort of vehicle was a terrible idea in that state, but Roadhog had no intention of staying there. He climbed onto his bike with a wheeze, only waiting long enough for Junkrat to hop into the sidecar before revving the engine and starting off.

Roadhog had known it was only a matter of time before his body ran itself into the ground. But he hadn’t expected it to be quite so soon. With his dwindling supply of canisters, what time he did have left was visually limited. His mind ached and he pushed the thought away for now as they roared out of town, kicking up dust.


	2. Chapter 2

It took two days to reach the next sorry excuse of a town where they made the decision to shell out for a room. The place was a shithole, crawling with insects and falling to pieces, but sometimes that beat sleeping outside. The atmosphere had been stilted since the night at the bar, like they’d been fleeing with something licking at their heels.

Roadhog stood in the bathroom with his mask off, contemplating his reflection in what barely constituted as a mirror. Its surface was clouded and cracked but he could still see how haggard he looked, how tired. Was it how a dying man looked or was that just him getting old? Was there a difference?

He reached up with a large hand to scrub his face. When he breathed in there was an underlying wheeze. An eye peeked out from behind his fingers, narrowed in disapproval.

The door opened from the other room followed by the unmistakable hobble of Junkrat’s footsteps. “You wouldn’t believe what they were charging for food! It’s criminal, really. Had no choice but to steal it."

Roadhog reached for his gas mask, sliding it back over his face before walking out of the bathroom. Junkrat was waiting, a bag of food in hand. He was staring up at Roadhog with the same expression he’d worn since the other night, like he was waiting for something. Roadhog could imagine the splintered shape of his thoughts, waiting for something that would pull the image into focus.

Whatever it was Junkrat needed to hear, Roadhog didn’t give it. Instead, he grunted out, “Europe.”

“What?” The contents of the bag were dumped onto a pitiful excuse for a table with mismatching legs. Junkrat dumped himself into a chair, picking up one of several sandwiches and taking a huge bite, then shoving several chips in after it. He stared expectantly at Roadhog, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, he shook his sandwich at him. “Why d’you want to go back to Europe? Got something in mind you want to steal? Well, alright. How far are we from the coast?”

Roadhog grunted, taking a moment to place them on a map through a muddied mind. There wasn’t any reason in particular he had chosen Europe, but it was a place to go with mayhem they could cause. Just like they had been this entire time. Continuing on as normal seemed like the only possible next move and Roadhog figured it was the best way to run himself into the ground. The reasons for it were scattered and unpleasant, but he was not going to die in Australia.

“Close.”

“Well, alright…” Junkrat didn’t seem convinced. Usually he would be on board for anything Roadhog suggested. The rat watched him as he walked over and snatched up a sandwich, sitting down on the creaky bed rather than risk a wobbly chair. He lifted the mask enough to begin eating, ignoring the look he was receiving. Junkrat’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Been eating less than usual, mate?”

He hadn’t been. Junkrat was starting to get weird ideas in his head. Roadhog ignored him, taking another bite of food. As he ate he was aware of the stillness in the space Junkrat occupied.

“If you don’t finish that, I’ll take it from you.” It wasn’t an offer Roadhog gave so much as a threat.

Junkrat began to fidget, tapping his peg leg distractedly against the floor. He was always restless but it had gotten worse in the past couple days. That meant something was on the horizon, but until it came Roadhog wasn’t going to worry himself over it.

“Europe,” Junkrat finally muttered to himself. “Yeah, yeah, Europe is fine.”

He stood and started pacing around the cramped room, mouth forming words, half of which were unintelligible. He finally stopped in a corner, head hanging at an angle. From time to time his frame shuddered but was otherwise still, giving the unsettling image of one of those trash heaps when its wiring got fucky.

Roadhog crammed the last bit of sandwich into his mouth, sucking on the side of his thumb. “Junkrat.”

Junkrat’s body moved like a jolt had gone through him and he turned his head, confusion shining briefly in his eyes before disappearing. “Yeah, mate?”

Roadhog tilted his head and Junkrat finally grinned. “Of course I got you something sweet. Would you believe they actually had snack cakes?”

He went to rustle through the bag then threw a colorfully wrapped package at Roadhog. It looked like it was probably a decade old but Roadhog knew these things never went bad. Junkrat ripped an identical one open with his teeth.

“Sure,” He said, sounding less like it was to himself. He took a sizeable bite out of the stale cake. “Europe works for me.”

-

Two weeks. They had been on the god-forsaken ship for two weeks, being tossed relentlessly on the sea, packed in tighter than sardines. Nausea had been a relentless companion, frequently delighting in reminding Roadhog of its existence while Junkrat skittered under its radar.

Roadhog was practically living on the deck, finding the breeze helped minimize the need to hurl significantly. Just looking at the waves was pissing him off, though. He couldn’t believe all that time sailing out, then sailing back in, then sailing out _again_ so soon and his stomach still wasn’t with the program.

Junkrat sat curled at his side, shuffling restlessly through a deck of cards he’d stolen from someone. He flipped an ace through his robotic fingers back and forth. “I’m ready to hold your hair back any time, big guy.”

Roadhog grunted sharply. He would be damned if the sea beat him again. Junkrat didn’t respond with his usual quips, focusing on the cards. When a few slipped from the pack he didn’t bother to pick them up and Roadhog watched as the joker card blew away.

The longer they were out to sea the moodier Junkrat became. Sometimes he would get this way, but it was a buildup Roadhog had been anticipating since he’d glimpsed its beginning back in Australia. It was just a matter of whether it simmered over while they were still on the ship or if it would wait. Junkrat would hopefully hold off until they were on solid land.

“Gonna be starting out in Italy again, mate. Loved Italy. Remember that place we went to that had those, uhh, those little cheese pocket things? With the pasta?” He nudged Roadhog, the slight motion setting his stomach on edge. “You ate so many of those, do you remember that?”

Roadhog grunted. He did remember, they had been delicious, but that was the last thing he wanted to think about now. “Remember how they were out after the fifth dish and I stood up for you, mate? I told them, ‘If you’re out then just make more!’ but they said ‘Nooooo,’ and, uh… I couldn’t really understand after that. You remember that?”

That interaction was a little fuzzier. Roadhog ignored him, but Junkrat became more excited as he dropped into what was probably a partially accurate memory. “Yeah! So I went to the back to demand the cook make more and it was a bloody tin can! I lobbed one of my bombs back there and then it was sparks everywhere! Couldn’t let the place keep standing after that, so I blew it to the ground. The flames were really high on that one!”

Oh, _that_ place. Roadhog did remember that one. He nodded to indicate it, unable to respond more than that in his current condition, noting the shine in Junkrat’s eyes. He always looked proud of himself when he could recall things without struggling.

Junkrat laughed, sounding a little more like himself, but seemed put out by Roadhog’s minimal response. He nudged him lightly with his elbow. “So Italy first, fill up on pasta, then let’s hit up France. You liked those, uh, crate things, right?”

“Crepe,” Roadhog managed to grind out. Again, something he’d rather think about when they’d left choppy seas far behind them.

“Like I said. Oi, we should steal another cart of them. That one we sent flying down the road, filled to the brim with TNT, the bang on that one! Oh, I loved it! Let’s see if we can’t make it even bigger this time around!”

All things that Roadhog was not opposed to, but just imagining the cart rocketing down the Parisian streets was making him want to throw Junkrat off the side of the boat. He grumbled to himself, watching Junkrat flip a few cards through his fingers. The look of excitement was already fading, giving way to a surly mood.

“Roight, want to play fish? Warlords and scumbags? Give me something here, mate, I’m dying.” Roadhog would show him dying. He would twist his little head right off his skinny neck and fuck, he was prodding at his side again. The motion thoroughly incapacitated the mountain of a man. “Don’t you want to play?”

More than anything, Roadhog wanted off the goddamn ship, but another week or--god forbid--two stretched out as endlessly before them as the ocean. He knew for a fact if he looked at even one card for more than a second all his willpower would melt and he’d be leaning over the side of the railing. He used a large hand to shove Junkrat further away to discourage all the prodding.

“Oh come on! I’ll tell you what your hand is! Just play with me, already!” Roadhog gave him a long look, Junkrat’s moody expression sinking into something downright deplorable. “Be that way, then!”

The sulky silence that followed was the closest thing to relief he’d felt in hours and Roadhog savored it like a breath of air that didn’t smell like salt and fish shit. It jarred him out of a brief reprieve when one of the crew stomped over and kicked the railing by his head with a sharp ringing of metal.

“Oi, you can’t stay here,” the irritated, sorry excuse for a sailor snapped at him. “Deck’s getting crowded and you’re hogging at least three spots yourself. Get a move on.”

Roadhog grunted, not even considering moving. They could try to haul him away if they really wanted to. Unfortunately, Junkrat’s jitters were at an all time high and he quickly turned the aggression onto the man. “Fuck off, mate, my friend’s in a very delicate state right now. You leave him alone or I’ll blow your head off your torso!”

There was a second where the man’s face twisted up, words tripping over themselves on his tongue as he reeled from what was clearly unexpected backtalk. Shocking, really, considering that the two of them looked like the definition of trouble. The disbelief gave way to anger. “You’ll do no such thing!”

As if there was anything stopping him. The ship hand looked like he could barely lift a wet bag of flour, let alone take on either of them. The rage was somewhat tapered as Junkrat jumped up onto his feet, leaning over the man with a good half a foot on him. “Try me, mate. I’ll pop it clean off like you were an Omnic.”

“N-now listen here-” The man stuttered out, retreating a few steps.

Junkrat, who had been groping around in a pocket, finally pulled out a match and waved it threateningly in the man’s face. “Shame you won’t get to appreciate the blast. You ever hear the sound of one of those going off up close? It’s- well, a bit deafening, really.”

He started to giggle, tongue tucked between his teeth as he advanced on the hapless shit. A voice called out from behind him. “Oi! What’s going on over there?”

Roadhog let out a wheezing sigh. He didn’t have the strength to get into a fight right then, not even with some weak-ass punks like them. “Junkrat.”

The bomber’s attention snapped back onto him, but was quickly dragged away as the man he had been threatening gave him a sharp shove. Junkrat stumbled, eyes widening, then wheeled around and grabbed the man by the front of his shirt. He hauled him over to the edge, throwing him against the railing and pressing him into it. “What d’you think you’re doing, mate? Trying to get the better of me?”

 _Fuck_. Sensing that any break had come to an end, Roadhog dragged himself up onto his feet, holding onto the railing as he tried to force the wooziness to pass. Normally he would let Junkrat fuck the man up or do it himself, but while they were on this ship they had to tentatively keep the peace. Which meant no throwing crew members overboard. Junkrat was giggling now. Roadhog grabbed him by his tire and lifted him, giving him a rough shake.

“ _Stop._ ”

Junkrat’s arms flailed, reaching back as if to dislodge himself. The man scrambled back from the railing, in the direction of the man coming in to crash the party. This newcomer looked a lot bigger, a lot meaner, but also more tired of any sort of shit being pulled. He threw an annoyed look down at his crewmate, clearly assigning him some of the blame. “What’s going on here?”

“These two were causing trouble and then that crazy dickhead started threatening me!”

“We weren’t causing any trouble!” Junkrat snapped, still suspended in the air. “Least, not until you showed your ugly face! We were minding our own business before this fuckstick butted in. The injustice in this world, I tell you mate.”

The man looked from Junkrat to Roadhog, as if trying to determine where he fit into all this. “We don’t tolerate people that cause trouble for the crew, no matter how stupid they are. Consider this your first and only warning. Get off the deck, all of you. Don’t want to see any of your faces until we reach the mainland.”

The world closed in around Roadhog as it had when the remnants of his food had been wasted at the bar not three weeks back. Having to go below deck would literally mean being condemned to hell. Already his footing seemed unsteady and the world swam a bit through the lenses of his mask. He wheezed at the thought and gave Junkrat a sharp shake by the tire.

Still, the thought resounded in his head that the other two trips had not been this bad. His body was not taking this as well as it should be, even with the fucked up condition it had been in for years.

“Hit the road, mate,” spat the crewmate that had bothered them. Roadhog considered wringing his neck right then and there, but noted the other crew members eyeing the situation with mild interest, hands on their guns. Roadhog would take on an army, but this was not something he was willing to touch while stuck on the water with a sea in his stomach.

He dropped Junkrat, hoisting his overalls up and making the arduous journey to the steps, pulling in the last few filtered breaths of fresh air before descending. Junkrat skittered after him, nearly tripping down the stairs into him. “Oi, come on, we could have taken ‘em!”

“Do you _ever_ shut up?” The steps beneath Roadhog’s feet seemed to sink under him. He refused to go any further than the first set, lumbering over to a corner and dropping down.

Junkrat stood over him, hands on his hips before dramatically gesturing back up the stairs they had just climbed. “Why are we down here when we could be up there? I would’ve happily blown them all to smithereens! That bastard was in the wrong and you know it!”

Roadhog’s head came up quickly in a motion that briefly made him dizzy, a sharp look under the mask that said it was because of Junkrat, his inability to think of consequences, that they were down in the humid pit of the ship and not on it. Junkrat placed an offended hand on his chest. “My fault? I was standing up for you, ungrateful arse!”

The sharp look remained, the disapproval beating its way into Junkrat, and then it faded. He was too exhausted, too sick to fight that fight, and at the end of the day Junkrat had been looking out for him. He grunted and closed his eyes. “Guy was a prick. Not worth getting thrown off over.”

“I guess…” From Junkrat’s grousing, he didn’t believe that for a second. But he did let it drop. The two sat in the dank, poorly lit and crowded cabin, tossing and turning with the waves.

Roadhog fell into an uncomfortable trance state until Junkrat nudged his side for what felt like the thousandth time. He growled at him in warning, but felt cool metal on his arm. Junkrat was holding up his flask to him, looking at him with a somewhat earnest expression. “Thirsty, mate?”

Roadhog stared at the rust on the flask then reached out to take it, lifting his mask to drink some water down. It soothed his stomach a small amount and he handed it back, accepting the peace offering as the waves rocked them closer to their destination.


	3. Chapter 3

Roadhog found some bitter irony in the meaning of a name he’d worn a lifetime ago as the sea effectively kicked his ass for the next week and a half of their journey. Junkrat’s slight was, unfortunately, not easily forgiven by a crew that had no doubt heard some slanted version of events and the two remained banished to the cramped, thick air below deck. Most days it was all Roadhog could do to hold down the churning in his guts. 

The entire situation left him in a foul mood that cut his patience to the quick. Junkrat was about as sympathetic as he was capable of being but his surliness only grew as Roadhog refused to participate in their usual mischief. The uncommon silence was a relief but there was something wrong about the rat curled up in a corner, muttering to himself as he made god knew what out of wires and scraps. Roadhog knew if Junkrat’s fuse blew before they were off the boat everyone on board was rightly fucked, but it fizzled in and out, the bang held at bay. 

When they docked in Italy Roadhog knocked down no less than twelve people to get his feet onto solid ground. No sooner had he let out a sigh of relief, there was a deafening boom from behind. The boards beneath his feet trembled and as he looked back he was met with the sight of their hellish prison on fire. 

Junkrat came barreling down the plank, mouth pulled back in a fierce grin. “Come on, come on, we gotta go!” 

Roadhog took a moment to drink in a secondary explosion deep within the ship, the air filling with screams and the crackling of flames. His mouth twitched up in a smile for the first time in a month and then he shook his head, stomach giving a protest as Junkrat tugged on his arm and he began to lumber off. 

The motorcycle sat strewn with a good quarter of the luggage that had been unloaded, debris raining down from the ship as a new explosion went off and smoke plumed above them. Junkrat leapt over several trunks of cargo and threw himself into the sidecar, giggling madly as he yelled at Roadhog to pick up the pace. Once he was seated the two tore out of the joint, littering other people’s belongings to the sides. 

“They didn’t find the gold!” Junkrat crowed with delight, digging his peg leg down in the bottom of the car then twisting his body around to watch the smoke. He shook his fist at the ship. “That’s what they get for crossing us and shoving us down out of the fresh air!” 

As he continued to whoop and cheer Roadhog made a sharp turn, nearly running over a couple of pedestrians that shouted after them in startled Italian. Roadhog revved his engine louder, drowning out their voices. On their current path they had a fantastic view of the burning ship, which was slowly sinking into the harbor. In the distance there was already the whine of sirens. 

Roadhog let out a boisterous laugh, which met and entwined with Junkrat’s as the carnage slipped from view. They carved a reckless path through the city until they had reached the outskirts, a much welcomed breeze tearing through their clothes and hair. Junkrat continued to giggle from time to time, eyes tilted upwards to watch the dark smudge of smoke from the blast. 

At the first opportune time Roadhog followed his instincts down various back streets, keeping an eye out for any sort of authority wanting to ruin their fun. He finally spoke, voice still tinged with amusement but cut through with something stern. “You’re lucky they’d already unloaded the hog or we would’ve been fucked. Think a little more next time.” 

“What?” Junkrat was brought back down to earth with mild confusion. He smacked his knee when the words registered. “Oh, riiiiiight! Don’t blow up the old ride until we’ve got the other one.” 

The lanky little fuck smacked the edge of the sidecar appreciatively. “Wouldn’t have gotten far without it, now would we?” 

Satisfied, Roadhog pulled out of the back streets and onto a road that led out of the city. The first course of action would be to get the fuck out of dodge before they could be incriminated, and the second was to locate a solid meal.

-

“I can’t understand what that bloke’s saying, but I think you might’ve eaten them out of linguini. Can you believe it? Is this Italy or isn’t it?” 

Junkrat sprawled himself over his side of the table, shoving some empty dishes out of the way to make space for his mechanical arm. He pulled out a small tool from his pocket and began tinkering. There was no way he could keep pace with Roadhog, but after so long on the ship he’d scarfed down several bowls of pasta and half a pizza before the stomachache hit. Roadhog chose to eat through the pain. 

“Where are we, anyways? Anywhere important? Doesn’t seem very posh, haven’t seen a tin can since we pulled off the interstate.” The ones Junkrat had hollered at and scared the living hell out of. “Threw a few cherry bombs under their car, did ya see that one? Felt a bit restless, had to blow off some steam.” 

Roadhog stared down their hapless waiter until the man, close to tears, finally went back towards the kitchen to assumedly find a different type of pasta for them to eat. He put his fist out and Junkrat grinned, pounding it. 

“Thanks, mate! Bet their faces would’ve been priceless if the damn things  _ had  _ faces.” He reached up to scratch at his head as his attention returned to his arm, tweaking something at his wrist. 

While he tinkered, Roadhog shoved more dishes aside to make room on the table, paying no mind as a few shattered against the ground. He spread out a map they’d stolen from a souvenir shop, examining it before finally jabbing a thick finger over a dot. Junkrat narrowed his eyes, then looked up at Roadhog, who shook his head. Nowhere important. 

The waiter eventually brought back another tray full of dishes, hurriedly placing them out and crouching to pick up pieces of glass. Roadhog looked out over the next course, eyes moving over each dish to assess their contents. Usually they were easy to categorize in order of which ones he wanted to eat the most of, which would taste weird once they got cold, which ones would give him the most gas, but this time his eyes just moved over them endlessly. 

A realization came to Roadhog as he listened to the white noise of Junkrat talking just under his radar: He didn’t want to eat any of these. It wasn’t that they looked bad - that had never stopped Roadhog - and he hadn’t even come close to his limit. It was one he pushed with every fiber of his being. He simply didn’t want to eat more food, his stomach giving a little roll when he thought of taking a bite. 

“Something the matter?” Junkrat had paused in his tinkering and glanced over at Roadhog with a shrewd look behind the usual madness. His flesh fingers rolled the little tool between them as he looked first the food, then Roadhog over. 

It bothered Roadhog that he didn’t immediately have the answer. He looked over the food like a riddle without a solution. Sure, he’d gotten horribly seasick every time they sailed but it generally only haunted him an hour, maybe two after leaving the ship. 

He looked at Junkrat, whose mood had bounced back spectacularly - so much so that Roadhog thought he might not even have a meltdown - then pulled one of the plates towards himself. Roadhog grunted, forcing a forkful of ravioli into his mouth. It was thick and unpleasant to chew, but he forced himself to swallow. He grunted a second time. 

Junkrat’s suspicion didn’t seem abated as he shrugged a shoulder, twirling his tool feverishly. “If you say so. No need to yell, jeez.” 

It was impossible to say if he picked back up on a thread or began a new one, but Junkrat started back up on his banter. Roadhog pushed the ravioli around and around, thinking that if he had to eat another he very well might hurl. Eventually he shoved it to the side, pulling a new one towards him. It was generously covered in cheese and sauce and was equally unappetizing. He lifted the fork halfway to his mouth before heaving a sigh and letting it drop back into the bowl. Dinner was over. 

Junkrat’s eyes locked on the untouched food mid sentence. It was never completed, trailing off as that shrewd look returned, though this time accompanied by a little tick of his eyelid. He fixed Roadhog with a suspicious look and slapped the panel on his arm closed. 

“Not gonna eat that, mate?” The words had an airy tone to them, but they were a thinly veiled attempt at confirming something his mind had built up starting in Australia. 

“Nah.” Roadhog wiped his mouth with part of the tablecloth, even though a linen napkin sat within grabbing distance, then tugged his gasmask down. A snappy comment about Junkrat acting like some nosy grandmother was entertained on Roadhog’s tongue but he ultimately decided against it. The rat was too keyed up, he would get snippy. 

He moved his hand with a flourish over the remaining dishes, of which there were a decent amount. It invited Junkrat to help himself. That only increased the mild hostility in his expression and Roadhog gave a shrug, like none of it mattered. Like he simply couldn’t be bothered to eat more. 

A few moments ticked by, Junkrat’s expression twitching in and out of different states. It finally settled into one that did not bode well and his eyes flitted from the dishes, to Roadhog’s mask, around to where their server was eyeing them nervously from a doorway. He stood suddenly, slamming his hand down on the table. 

“Oi, you! Get my friend something decent to eat right now! We’re paying customers, you’d better find something he wants.” 

The man darted back into the kitchen and Junkrat stood, pacing nervously around their table then throwing himself back into the chair. His leg tapped against the floor, jaw grinding back and forth. “Sorry the food’s no good, mate.” 

Roadhog suppressed a sigh, contemplating the best course of action. Being indulgent was certainly the easiest thing to do, but it would also require him potentially puking, which would just get Junkrat more riled. He was so goddamn sensitive to the weirdest changes of environment. It was a headache more often than not. 

The issue tumbled through his mind, each possibility analyzed and scrutinized until Roadhog decided, fuck it, he didn’t want to think about it anymore. “Just don’t want it.” 

It was decidedly the wrong thing to say. 

“What d’you mean you don’t want it?” Junkrat’s mechanical fingers twitched and tapped against the table. He reached down to snatch up a match from his pocket, flicking it against his metal arm just lightly enough not to catch. “You always want food.” 

Several bowls of something new were brought out and the server tried desperately to place them on the crowded table. Junkrat’s attention flicked to him and in a moment he’d whipped out one of his bombs, tugging on the fuse. 

“Bad news, mate.” There was a quiver to his voice as he addressed the waiter. He struck the match and brought it close to the man’s face, rolling the bomb in his other hand. “My friend isn’t too fond of the shit you’re pawning off as food. Guess you’re to blame.” 

As a rule, Roadhog didn’t give a shit about any of the people in the restaurant, and certainly not the sorry fuck that was actively sweating and starting to blubber. It wasn’t a matter of caring, so much as of knowing. Junkrat’s threats weren’t born of his love for mayhem, which Roadhog was always down for, but out of a bad brain space. He’d gotten some weird thoughts festering in that head of his and part of Roadhog’s job was defusing those. 

Roadhog hooked a couple of fingers in Junkrat’s harness, tugging him back. The bomb rolled precariously in his palm and he clamped down around it. “Oi, what’s the big idea? I need to give this guy the tip he deserves!” 

The match started to burn down and he let out a yelp as the flames brushed his fingers, dropping it to the ground. Roadhog ignored the scrambling of the waiter, who took the opportunity to flee towards the kitchen. Instead he grunted, tilting his head. 

Junkrat studied his face, eyes narrowed. The tension suddenly went out of his shoulders and he rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t you say so earlier? Here I am getting all in a twist on your behalf when you’re just seasick. Don’t have to be embarrassed about it, mate. I mean, it’s pretty embarrassing but I won’t make fun of you too much for it!” 

The rat had come to his own conclusion and while the tension was still there, the festering buildup had been put to a halt. Maybe all he’d need would be to blow something up later. It was tricky to tell sometimes, but these things worked themselves out either way. 

“Well, if that’s the case then let’s get out of here! No point in sticking around if you’re not going to eat.” Junkrat reached into his boot and pulled out a truly wretched hunk of gold. He threw it onto the table and flexed his mechanical fingers, testing out what he’d been working on. With a nod to Roadhog he stood up and started out of the restaurant, grabbing a breadstick off of the table where two terrified patrons sat and munching on it as they left. 

The explosion was still on the horizon, but when it did come out it should be thrilling. Junkrat had that desperate look in his eyes. The two left the town in the dust, heading for the city. 


	4. Chapter 4

The vineyard the two junkers had happened upon was as lush as it was posh. Grapes littered the ground, a result of time and also the two men who were now stomping roughly through the brush, crushing them under their boots. The smell of it, which had begun to stick to the soles of their shoes, was expensive. 

“I don’t see why  _ you’re  _ being an unfriendly arse. It’s not like I’ve done anything.” Junkrat popped a few more grapes into his mouth, reaching up to snatch several particularly juicy looking bunches from a vine. He tossed one to Roadhog. “In fact, I seem to remember suggesting we stop at the last town. Too bad nobody listened to me.” 

Roadhog wanted to argue that it wasn’t his fault he had to tune out roughly half of what Junkrat ever said, on account of him constantly spewing a lot of shit. Instead he popped a few grapes into his mouth, enjoying the feeling of the thick skins splitting between his teeth. A breeze wafted through, cooling the sweat on his back. They must have been walking well over an hour and he was feeling it. 

“What, just going to sulk back there? It’s just because I’m right, as per usual.” Junkrat spat out some seeds, looking back over his shoulder smugly. 

That finally drew a grumble out of Roadhog. “Wouldn’t have wasted all the gas if I wasn’t trying to drown out the sound of your damn voice.” 

Junkrat wheeled around, one hand extended in rage while the other continued to cradle an overflowing armful of grapes. “Well, looks like we’ve stumbled over the root of the problem, mate! Not listening to the boss is the number one cause of death on the job. You’re just lucky I don’t come down on the backtalk.” 

Junkrat spun back to face forward, throwing his head back and dangling grapes above it. He lowered them into his mouth one by one, pleased with himself. 

Roadhog grumbled again in such a way he could no longer pretend he wasn’t sulking. Fuck did he hate walking. Why did the damn bike have to run out of fuel in the middle of nowhere? 

At least they had the grapes. Someone had spent a pretty penny on the vineyard, which had been spanning before them for quite some time. Roadhog stripped off more grapes, savoring the juice and being grateful his stomach seemed to have settled. Maybe it really had been lingering seasickness after all.  

His tongue slid over his teeth, dislodging a seed from between his gums and his lip. “These’re going to make good wine someday.” 

“I prefer ‘em just like this.” Junkrat tossed a less favorable bunch onto the ground, immediately forgetting about its existence and squishing it under his foot. He spit out some seeds. “The candy of the fruit world.” 

As they walked, it became increasingly apparent that not only were they approaching civilization, but there was some sort of party going on. The sounds of voices and laughter were accompanied by the smell of food and Roadhog’s stomach grumbled deeply. 

“Smells like someone’s cooking prawns,” Junkrat commented. He was correct. Shrimp, and something else. Steaks. 

Their eyes met briefly and then the two changed course, destroying more vines as they moved closer to the source. They reached the end of the row they’d been walking down, stepping onto a stone path. It curved around the property of a house that reeked of money, taking them to a gate that opened onto a lavish backyard that was crammed with a party of people in stiff clothing. 

“Hooley dooley that smells good! Come on, big guy! We can ask for directions and pinch a bite to eat.” He slapped Roadhog’s arm, limping onto the property. It took no coaxing for Roadhog, who remained close on his heels. 

Junkrat made his way over to a table where a spiffy gar ç on was serving little treats, receiving a gaping look of horror as he approached. He reached down and grabbed himself a handful of deviled eggs. “Don’t mind me, mate. Left my bowtie in the car.” 

The server stared slack jawed first at him, the ruined platter, then back to Junkrat who looked and smelled like shit. He was unable to come up with a suitable response as the intruder hobbled away, but was quick to move off to the side, speaking quietly to an important looking man in a suit. 

More looks of horror and disgust followed as they pushed deeper into the party, Junkrat’s commentary coming fast and loose. He sharply nudged Roadhog’s side, pointing towards a table. “Is that a punch bowl made of an ice swan? That’s just watering down perfectly good drinks. Rich people sure are cheap, yeesh!” 

Roadhog, who was holding shrimp in one hand and a delicate wine glass in the other, gave a grunt of concurrence. 

The man who was clearly hosting the party, dressed in a white suit with gold trim, strode over to them with an air of someone who was used to having the upper hand on things. He came to stand in front of them, impeding their path and babbling at them in Italian as Junkrat picked up a snail shell and pried the meat out with his teeth. 

“Sorry mate, don’t speak French.” 

The man immediately switched to English. “You idiot! Who are you people? Get out of here, this is private property!” 

Junkrat gave the man a grin and turned to yell over his shoulder. “Did you hear what he just said to us, Roadhog?” 

Roadhog’s head slowly turned their direction away from a table covered with hor d'oeuvres. The sun glinted off the glass of the gasmask as he dropped the tail of shrimp, cracking his knuckles. Junkrat giggled giddily, always itching to witness a goon in a suit get roughed up. 

The host’s hands flew up in a panic as Roadhog’s glorious girth overshadowed him and he quickly began to back away. “Please, sirs, surely we can find a peaceful resolution. Security!” 

Before Roadhog could get his hands on the guy, what had appeared to be two statues lit up and revealed themselves to be security bots. Red lights flashed in warning as they came to stand in front of their unwitting host, who made a mad dash towards the house. The other guests seemed frozen in place for a moment before taking the cue to get out of the way. 

“Bots!” Junkrat’s attention flew onto the robots with aggressive glee. Even if they weren’t technically omnics, he was always ready to pop one of those tin cans. He pulled a string of small bombs he’d been working on and lit them, tossing one at the nearest security bot. It exploded with a loud snap on impact, blowing off one of the metal limbs. Junkrat gave a shrill laugh, throwing a second one at the other arm. “Oi, Roadhog! Party crashers. Let’s get ‘em!” 

Roadhog’s hand shot out to his side, snapping up one of the heavy platters and sending food flying as he pulled his arm back to chuck it at the second robot just as it was making what was presumably a cease and desist order in Italian. Junkrat hooted as Roadhog lumbered towards the downed bot. He longed for his hook and gun in that moment but knew good old fashioned knuckles would do the job just nicely.

The remaining guests too shocked or too stupid to leave finally ran away screaming as Roadhog flipped tables nonchalantly on his way towards the robot. There was nothing quite as satisfying as the sound of a wine glass pyramid shattering. 

The bot seemed to make some quick calculations and changed course to go for Junkrat, who was clearly the less physically intimidating of the two. Cheap tactics for a cheap bucket of bolts. Junkrat looked around a second too late and was lifted physically by the bot and treated with fairly lethal force. He was thrown a good couple yards and landed in the punch bowl, shattering the neck of the swan with a loud, “Oof!”  

The robot continued to babble at him in Italian as it approached, Junkrat more preoccupied with trying to get a good grip on the ice. Just as it reached him, presenting a thin device from one arm that very much looked like a tazer, Roadhog came roaring onto the scene. He hooked the robot with one arm, charging a few feet with momentum before slamming it into the ground. 

Junkrat finally pushed himself up into a sitting position, shaking a fist enthusiastically. His voice had a slight shiver in it as he cheered, “Get him, mate!” 

The first bot, now missing an arm and half a leg, wrapped its appendage around Junkrat’s neck, pinning him against the ice. He yelped and reached up, twisting his skinny body around as he attempted to wrassle it. It took a good deal of struggling, but Junkrat broke free and scrambled on top, shoving the robot down into the punch bowl. He reached deep into his pocket and pulled out a small device, slapping it to the bot’s back with giggling excitement. 

“Sorry for crashing the party, but we’re gonna have to say  _ bomb voyage! _ ” Junkrat leapt off of the robot and landed with surprising grace, running as fast as he could and yelling to Roadhog. “We need to go!” 

Roadhog finished popping the head off of the security bot, noting the telltale sound of beeping from one of Junkrat’s bombs. He pulled himself up with a gruff sound and began to run, breaking a weak wooden fence as they disappeared into the vineyard. 

Even with his leg, Junkrat was still somehow outrunning him and he was a yard or so behind when the explosion went off. Food, ice, and splintered wood went everywhere as the villa went up like tinder. The junkers were thrown into the dirt, squishing grapes beneath them as the trees blew down. 

Junkrat was the first to emerge, coughing and spitting out earthen matter. He scrambled up, flipping around to see the wreckage with shining eyes and a mouthsplitting grin. There was only time to holler once as sirens went off, and he slapped Roadhog’s back as he picked himself up and started running again. 

“Come on, come on, come on!” 

With a wheeze, Roadhog hauled himself up and began running after him. The two of them laughed breathlessly as they forced a path through the burning vineyard, putting distance between them and the alarms echoing at their backs. When they were far enough they turned to look back, admiring the smoke curling up towards a twilight-lit sky. 

“Beautiful, just beautiful, mate.” Junkrat cackled again, starting to pick a few more armfuls of grapes.

Roadhog nodded, lungs burning too painfully to even give a grunt. There was a vague, woozy sensation in his head and he discreetly pulled a canister from his pocket, taking in a deep breath of chemicals. His chest began to ease but a faint dizziness remained that he inwardly noted as something to worry about later. 

It was as they were nearing the edge of the property that some crows came and gave Junkrat a bit of hell. He mostly won the fight, ignored by Roadhog. It had been a good one. 

-

Junkrat came limping out from the woods just as Roadhog gave a loud belch. He was laying on his back, still popping the last of their grapes into his mouth from time to time despite the fact that they were starting to get old. Junkrat dumped himself beside him with a heaving sigh of contentment, still smelling of punch, and crossed his arms behind his head as he looked up at the mostly cloudless night sky. 

“Wonder where the hell we are, anyways.” He didn’t pester Roadhog for an answer, not bothered by being unable to place themselves. He propped his peg leg up, kicking off his shoe and stretching his toes out. “Shame we didn’t get a bit more of that food while we had the chance.” 

Roadhog turned his head to look at him and Junkrat’s eyebrows shot up incredulously. “What do you mean it’s my fault for grabbing deviled eggs? They were right there for the taking! Why, if I hadn’t gotten those then I would be living off these things and a man cannot live on grapes alone.” 

The words made Roadhog’s stomach cramp up a bit and he groaned, turning his face back towards the sky. They were far enough from the big cities that the stars shone through. Not as spectacularly as in the outback, but still as crisp and bright as diamonds strewn out across cloth. The sticky scent of grapes lingered on them, overly sweet. 

He sighed, interrupting Junkrat mid-sentence. “I’m going to take the dankest shit with all these grapes.”

“Oh, I already did, mate,” Junkrat giggled, wiggling his peg leg a little. Roadhog coughed out a laugh over the tittering and the two found humor in it for what it was worth. 

A comfortable silence fell for a few moments before Junkrat started up again, gesturing at the sky. “Can’t really tell if they look any different than in Australia. No idea where any of the stars go.” 

Roadhog grunted. He couldn’t remember whether the stars actually did appear differently depending on where you were. It seemed like information he must have had a lifetime ago, but probably discarded on account of it being completely useless. 

“Yeah, I don’t know what  _ any  _ constellations are. Not a one.” Junkrat seemed proud. He gestured up at some cluster of stars. “That’s an explosion though. And the two next to it are us running from the explosion.” 

Roadhog considered the smattering of stars, eyes roving over it like he was tracing out a shape. He finally grunted in approval and Junkrat’s hand slapped against his side in a fit of solidarity. Roadhog’s eyes moved further over. “And that one is Pachimari.” 

“I see it! Yeah, look at the little fucker.” It was impossible to say where Junkrat was actually looking, but Roadhog took his word that he saw it, too. 

Junkrat’s eyes roamed eagerly across the sky until he pointed sharply. “That one’s a pig.” 

Roadhog snorted but didn’t disagree. They spotted a steel trap, a cricket bat, a shark, and another explosion before Junkrat began to tire of the activity. 

“Now that we’re in Europe, are we gonna go back to all the places we did before? So you can sample all the food again?” He lifted his foot and wiggled his toes, looking at them on the background of the stars. “I’d kill to blow up something important. What d’you think?” 

There was a huff of air as Roadhog heaved his shoulders indifferently, letting Junkrat know he was up for anything suggested. 

“Yeah, somethin’ real nice, like a monument.” Junkrat scratched at his hair beside him, elbow whacking into Roadhog. He began recounting several of the places they’d gone to, the bots they’d done in there, whatever the hell came to mind. 

Roadhog tuned him out. “Do you ever shut up?” 

“No, no I don’t.” Junkrat’s flesh foot came down with a thud in the grass. “I will if you suggest something. I’ve always been a lenient boss, I’ll take input from the grunt. And not just cute collectibles or eating shit.” 

That earned a growl of displeasure. What was wrong with cute collectibles and eating? Roadhog had certainly never ragged on his hobbies. With the easy answers off the table, he had to actually think about it, realizing nothing particularly came to mind. 

Sure, there was the usual desire for mayhem and raising hell, but he knew it wasn’t what Junkrat wanted to hear. Roadhog could hear the thump of Junkrat’s peg leg against the ground in the stretch of silence. He finally gave a dismissive grunt. He didn’t have anything to offer. 

Junkrat scoffed at him, slim body stretching out like a cat. “I’m not letting you off the hook that easily. Everyone wants to do  _ something  _ so you’d better think of something good. I’m serious, now! Orders from the boss.” 

Roadhog gave no indication one way or the other if he’d try, leaving it up to the rat to forget. He watched Junkrat’s hands as he told a story he’d been there for, the way they splayed and flickered with the dips of his words. Junkrat relished the moment as much as when it had happened. 

The words weaved through the air, the sound of them more important than their meaning. He remembered how it had felt, too. Roadhog laid his head back, staring up at the night sky and licking the taste of grapes off his teeth. As he did a clear thought stood out among the drone of words. 

_ I’m already doing what I want to do.  _

It was there just like that, a simple truth without much else put on it. It resounded a few times and he settled back into a comfortable silence, letting Junkrat drown out the sounds of the night woods around them. A flicker of the memory of using his canister earlier shone briefly in his mind before it was dismissed. He had already acknowledged the dwindling time left back in Australia. There were worse ways he could be spending it than this. 


	5. Chapter 5

“Europeans are the worst,” Junkrat grouched, not for the first time. 

Roadhog turned his head back to look at him, a warning in his expression against complaining one more time. Of course neither of them wanted to be waiting for a car to stop, a nearly impossible feat when their appearances were considered, but what choice did they have? He turned back towards the road, holding a sign up that read: Won’t Kill U. When Roadhog had questioned whether anyone would even be able to read it, Junkrat insisted the sentiment would come across. 

“They’re unfriendly, that’s what they are! Not even thinking to stop for a couple of fellas down on their luck. What if we were starving? Or dying? No one believes in charity anymore.” Junkrat waved his hands frantically at an oncoming car, which proceeded to speed up. “See!” 

Roadhog grunted. What had he expected? People were shit. Not that he would’ve picked them up, either. He diligently held up the sign while Junkrat threw his thumb out as far as possible. Roadhog offered a sharp warning grunt that he would lose his other damn arm if he wasn’t careful. 

The end of his patience came swiftly after standing in the sun that long and with a heaving sigh Roadhog stepped out into the road and readied himself. Another car came down the way and instead of backing off, he raised his hands and ran towards it. Terrified and confused, the driver ran off the side of the road, narrowly avoiding a tree. The sign was thrown at the windshield and he went over to rip the car door open, pulling the driver out and throwing the startled man to the side. Junkrat came loping over the highway to join them. 

“Nicely done, mate!” He jumped over the man to secure shotgun, taking a drink from the previous owner’s mug once inside. Roadhog stepped into the driver’s side, making the car sink with his weight. “Now to find a town, get what we need, and get the hell outta there.” 

Roadhog left the frazzled, yelling Italian man in the dust and sped down the road on an empty tank of gas. Fucker. 

Junkrat babbled cheerfully until they rolled into the nearest town. He insisted on grabbing a snack and the two stopped briefly to grab convenience store fare, wandering around to find the gas station. When they finally did, Roadhog was in a considerably better mood. He was sucking chocolate from his thumb, listening to Junkrat babble and swing the gallons of gasoline he was holding, when he was posed with a sobering question. 

“So where’d we park the car, mate?”  

The two paused on a street corner, glancing one way and then the other. Roadhog’s eyebrows scrunched as he gave it some consideration. They had been walking around for a while. He wheezed uncertainly, scratching the side of his neck. “Huh. It was in the direction of the convenience store.” 

“Riiight. Which would be….where?” Once again they looked back and forth. 

By all rights it was Roadhog’s job to keep track of such things, as it was impossible for Junkrat to keep such trifling information in that wiley brain of his. On this occasion he had failed miserably, but couldn’t find it in himself to give much of a shit. He finally shrugged, then looked at Junkrat. He started nodding his head, letting one of the gas tanks smack into the side of his leg. “You’ve got a point, there. We’d waste half our gas just filling the one we had. Alright, new plan! We steal a better car, then we go find our bike.” 

His eyes traveled over their surroundings afresh, hunting out their new vehicle. It didn’t take long before they were lighting up and Junkrat pointed at a tiny souped up car that looked like a beetle. The thing looked ancient. It was unmanned and Junkrat hobbled over to it, kneeling down with a piece of wire to open it up. It only took him a few seconds and then he was scrambling around to get in the seat. 

It was the second car they’d stolen that day. They weren’t getting close to their record. Roadhog had considerable trouble squeezing himself into the car and the door wouldn’t shut the first couple times he slammed it. He finally closed it, but sat with his shoulders square against the roof, bent over the steering wheel as Junkrat hotwired the vehicle.

“Come on, get a move on!” Junkrat smacked the dash impatiently with his metal hand and Roadhog begrudgingly started backing out. They pulled into Italian traffic, which was fairly reckless, and Roadhog stewed in silence until Junkrat noticed. “What is it, mate? Don’t like the choice of transportation?” 

Roadhog gave Junkrat the stink eye as he tried to shift in the small space and found it to be impossible. Junkrat quirked an eyebrow, as if he couldn’t see the problem with his own damn eyes. He huffed when Roadhog grunted angrily at him.  “It’s not  _ that  _ cramped in here. And look, it has one of those little air fresheners you like.” 

The air freshener did very little to lift Roadhog’s spirits. “The hell did you pick this hunk of junk for?” 

“It reminded me of the sidecar.” The admission was as quick as it was stupid. “I’ve been missing it. Phah, you’re just touchy.” 

Junkrat reached over and switched on the radio, which was already set on the pop station, and crossed his arms behind his head contentedly. In a fit of low-simmering rage, Roadhog reached over and punched at the search button until he found a rock station blasting metal. He turned it up when Junkrat squawked in disbelief. 

“You walk a fine line, mate,” he warned, but didn’t turn it off, sinking into the seat and sulking. 

Roadhog pulled the car up onto the sidewalk and floored it, causing several pedestrians to dive away. The sooner they got back to the bike, the better. 

-

“And here I thought shelling out for a room would be worth it!”

Junkrat paced around the room of the shitty motel he’d paid for. Roadhog had been in a truly abominable mood even after they’d miraculously located the bike and while this was Junkrat’s way of apologizing, he remained unmoved. They were going to make quick work of wrecking the room, though, he could tell. 

“Jeez Louise, I am ripe.” Junkrat stood to the side, smelling one of his pits. He shook his head as if to force the stink away. It was undeniable that the two of them smelled absolutely rotten. There was nothing to do about their usual stink, but the stint in the vineyard combined with being squished into the car had caused it to rise to dangerous levels. It was time to make a minimal effort to do something about it. 

Roadhog followed Junkrat into the bathroom, waiting as he stepped in fully clothed, and turned on the spray. The little gremlin yelped, turning it away from himself then handing it to Roadhog. “Alright, spray me down, mate.” 

There wasn’t even a second of hesitation as Roadhog jammed his thumb over part of the showerhead, concentrating the spray right into Junkrat’s face. He let out a yelp and Roadhog’s laugh echoed in the bathroom. Junkrat floundered wildly before he finally shoved Roadhog’s hand away with both of his then jabbing a finger in his face. “You’d better watch yourself, or you’re going to get a taste of your own medicine!” 

Roadhog raised the shower head threateningly and Junkrat’s arms flew up like he was going to unleash all the kungfu he didn’t know on him. Roadhog laughed again, starting to hose Junkrat down. Junkrat glared, arms crossed tightly as he muttered under his breath, “See if I give you even ten percent of that treasure if you keep on like that.” 

A few minutes in and the hosing had removed most of the larger particles, but wasn’t really doing shit. In his impatience, Junkrat grabbed the shower head and stood up on the side of the tub to hose Roadhog down, not waiting for him to step in. Water sprayed everywhere, barely doing any damage on Roadhog’s filth. 

“I don’t think this is gonna cut it, mate. We’re going to have to resort to other means. I think this place had a pool.” 

And it was decided. The two traipsed out of the room, soaking wet, and headed down the hall. The pool was a shitty little thing defended by a wirey fence decorated with bandaids. The junkers made quick work of breaking the lock. Junkrat went for a dive, but belly flopped hard. Roadhog’s attempt at a cannonball was devastatingly successful, sending water sloshing over the sides of the pool. 

Junkrat wiped his face, cackling. “That was a great one, mate! This pool must be half empty after that one.” 

The water immediately began to discolor around them as weeks worth of grime floated off. Junkrat began to float on his back, gliding lazily in the water. “I can’t believe you changed the radio on me earlier. That was cold, even for you.” 

Roadhog grunted in response, unapologetic. Junkrat tisked at him, slowly flipping onto his side from the weight of his robotic limbs. He struggled for a moment. “You’ve been touchy all day. What’s got you in such a foul mood? We found the bike, it’s a miracle!” 

Another grunt was all he received in response. Junkrat narrowed his eyes, displeased that his attempts to smooth things over were going so horribly. “You’ve just been off, mate. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to let it go.” 

If Roadhog had pulled a line like that, Junkrat’s bitching would never end. Despite the tart note in his voice, though, Junkrat had started staring with concern. It wasn’t like the suspicious scrutiny from before, but something softer. It was uncomfortable to look at so he chose not to. 

His mind briefly touched on the memory of using the canister in the vineyard, the pain that came and went in his stomach, then abruptly stopped thinking about it. When he looked back, Junkrat was either attempting to make snow angels at the bottom of the pool or was drowning. In the few seconds it took Roadhog to debate which it was, he breached the surface to take in a gasp of air. The question remained a mystery. 

“Alright, I’m ready to get out of here. Wouldn’t want to get all pruny.” Junkrat hauled himself out of the side of the pool, looking every inch a drowned rat. 

The trek back to the room seemed to take forever and when they finally got back, they set upon snacks they’d stolen like rabid dogs. A convenience store had been their one and only stop after grabbing the bike and Roadhog was grateful he’d insisted on it as he stuck a can of Pringles in his mouth and tilted his head back. Junkrat hacked on some beef jerky. 

“This place is pretty posh for a motel. Glad we shelled out for it.” It was an obvious ploy to poke at the fact that Junkrat had mostly done that for Roadhog’s sake, an attempt to feel out whether or not he was still mad.

Roadhog chose to tilt the can further back instead of responding, suffering instant karma as he went into a coughing fit. Sure he was pissed off about the car, but the anger came from something that lived in his lungs, his cells, his bones. It was unfair to take it out on Junkrat, but if he could make it through the low mood days then Junkrat could hack it for one night. 

The cold shoulder made Junkrat huff with displeasure and he threw himself on the bed, still damp. “Well  _ I’m  _ going to sleep. It’s been a long day and I need my beauty rest.” 

Roadhog finished hacking up a chip fragment, giving a grumble of acknowledgement as Junkrat curled up dejectedly. He would be over it by tomorrow. 

-

Shadows filtered across the discolored ceiling, unfamiliar yet identical to a hundred others he’d seen throughout his life. It made him miss the shack on the outskirts of Junkertown. The place had been a piece of shit but it had been familiar. Comfortable, even. Junkrat had gone out of his way to make it a shared space even though Roadhog hadn’t asked for it. 

A thought crept in, unbidden and unwelcome. How many more nights like this were left? Roadhog crushed it with the vehemence one would a particularly pesky insect. Whether it was practicality or denial, there was little point in worrying about it. 

The sound of shuffling at his side broke Roadhog from his thoughts and he looked over, somewhat relieved to have a distraction. Junkrat was moving around restlessly and Roadhog realized belatedly what he was doing. The little shit was jerking off. 

This happened from time to time. The two had reached an understanding early on in their acquaintanceship that if they were going to be around each other twenty-four seven, this was a thing that would happen. Junkrat’s lack of boundaries made it easy. Roadhog didn’t give a shit and did it when it suited him as well. 

There had been a minor incident a while back where Junkrat had insisted that Roadhog had gotten cum on his back. He had gone on and on about it, pleased as could be, until Roadhog had finally laid down the law. He’d imposed a rule that whenever one of them did it, their back had to be turned. It was one Junkrat abided by, albeit grudgingly. Roadhog thought it was a suitable smackdown after being accused of something he was ninety percent sure hadn’t happened. 

It had happened enough times that he knew Junkrat’s system for it. Rather than going at it frantically like he would have expected, Junkrat treated masturbation like one of the fuses on his bombs. He always went at a steady pace, no matter if it was overstimulating at the beginning or infuriating at the end. That was one way to do it, Roadhog had thought. 

As Roadhog ruminated over these things he suddenly realized he’d been watching Junkrat for what had to have been a couple of minutes. Junkrat’s breath hitched sharply and he quickly muffled it against the pillow. Another rule Roadhog had laid out early on was if Junkrat was going to do it, he had to be quiet about it. Otherwise he made the most drawn out, ungodly sounds the whole way through and no one needed to hear that, least of all Roadhog. 

The sound of his breathing grew heavy in the silence, the slightest whining sound bleeding through every once in awhile. His hand continued to move at the same steady pace, showing more restraint than in any other aspect of his life. Roadhog considered looking away but continued to stare, watching the way his hips pushed up slightly into his hand. 

Roadhog’s head tilted to the side, eyeing Junkrat’s silhouette, and not for the first time he entertained the thought of going there. It would be satisfying to grab those hips, pull him back against him as he cried out. He let out a heavy breath, letting the thought go with it. 

It came down to the fact that it was just too much trouble. Junkrat would be unbearable the whole way through. Not that Roadhog was a dream to have sex with either, but he was satisfied with the status quo. Also, he remembered that he was still annoyed from earlier. 

Junkrat gasped as he drew close, frame shuddering the way it always did just before he came. Roadhog again considered moving his eyes away, but his gaze remained fixed on him as he made a few muffled sounds, body jerking slightly as he spilled into his hand. Roadhog looked away after that, knowing it was only a matter of time before the rat looked over. He always knew when Roadhog was looking at him, sometimes to an unnerving degree. 

“Oh sorry, mate.” And sure enough. “Hope I didn’t bother ya.” 

There was something unbearably self-satisfied in the way he said it that made Roadhog suspect he’d been making some kind of point. Roadhog grunted non-committedly, not giving him the satisfaction. That earned him a small snort and a second later Junkrat was sitting up. 

Roadhog glanced over, Junkrat’s back turned to him as he started fussing with his leg. There was some soft clinking as Junkrat unbuckled it, followed by a sigh of satisfaction. He turned, sitting on the bed as he began to fiddle with his mechanical arm. When he finished taking it off he started shaking it over Roadhog’s face. 

“Seemed like you were a bit interested just now. Do you need a  _ hand _ ?” He let out an obnoxious laugh. 

That was exactly why Roadhog didn’t want to fuck him. He grunted in annoyance and Junkrat cackled again, tossing his arm to the side and squirming around until he was comfortable in the bed. It wasn’t long until the rat had drifted off and was snoring softly. He always fell asleep quickly after getting off. 

Roadhog was left with his thoughts again and tried to access what he’d been thinking about before being distracted, but it didn’t come. He figured it was just as well and shut his eyes. It wasn’t long before he followed Junkrat in sleep. 

-

“What’s it sound like? Are there explosions?” 

Roadhog put up a hand to silence Junkrat, trying to determine if he was listening to a trailer or if the movie was already playing. He finally shook his head. No luck. 

“A romantic comedy, eh? How much of that tripe do people need to see? They’re rotting their brains is what they’re doing!” Junkrat trailed after him as they went to the next door, on a quest to find the most violent movie playing. 

A solid night’s sleep had done well for Roadhog’s mood and he’d determined to make things up to Junkrat in the most minimal effort way he knew how: by taking him to break into a movie theater. Junkrat had been more than enthused by the suggestion. 

The next door they tried yielded results in a big way and Roadhog nodded at Junkrat. He leaned his head up to listen and crowed in delight. “This is the one, mate!” 

With a hefty swing of his arm, Roadhog threw his hook into the door and dented it sharply. It came off the hinges with a tug and Junkrat skittered in, leaving Roadhog to remove his hook and prop the door back up. Luckily the few terrified patrons inside the theater were too blinded by the sudden light to know what was going on and quickly settled back down, though a little on edge. 

The junkers made their way through the theater and sat down in the front row, Roadhog grabbing a bucket of popcorn from the person next to him. They quickly vacated the seat. Junkrat’s knee knocked into Roadhog's as he spread his legs, taking up as much room as possible. 

“This is great!” he yelled over the sounds on screen. 

They had found a good one. Plenty of car chases and buildings coming down. Those were Junkrat’s favorite. He always pushed himself to the edge of his seat, leaning over it all gangly limbs as he waited for it to crash. Roadhog could take or leave the film, but Junkrat was excited and the popcorn was pretty good. Nothing compared to the food they’d stolen at a theater in California, though. The popcorn had been soaked so thoroughly with butter it had made Junkrat sick. He’d complained for hours after that and been a right pain in the ass. Roadhog had the feeling this night was going to end better than that. 

The movie came to an explosive ending, Junkrat’s legs bouncing like a child waiting to open presents on Christmas. His cries of exhilaration earned some shushing and someone yelling what must have roughly translated to, “Shut the fuck up!” 

Junkrat was flying too high to hear any criticisms of his behavior, tearing at the dry skin of his lips as he stared enthralled at the screen. There was some grumbling as the lights came up that was silenced by Roadhog turning to stare them down. Junkrat finally bounced from his seat, clapping his hands giddily. “Now that was the good stuff! Did you see the way that building went down? The sound of that blast? Incredible! Though I bet we could make one twice, no, ten times bigger than that!” 

The two exited the way they’d come in, leaving the door on the ground. Junkrat led the way, stepping out into a smattering of city buildings. They were conspicuous at best, but nobody had reported them for suspicious behavior yet. They probably had another night or two they could stay there without getting anyone on their asses. 

“Mate, I’ve been thinking.” This would be good. Roadhog could hear it in his voice. “Why don’t we bring something down tonight? You know, something flashy! I’ve got the bombs to do it, it’d be easy.” 

So much for staying there any longer, but Roadhog was game. He grunted and they began looking around more carefully, searching for the perfect target. 

In the middle of the city there was a building under construction. It had a lot of windows, good for crashing down, and although it seemed in mid progress it was a good twenty stories high. The most notable thing about it, though, was the banner in front that boasted equal omnic rights. They didn’t have to speak Italian to know what that photo of a man shaking an tin can’s hand was selling. Roadhog grunted under his breath. 

“That’s right, mate,” Junkrat said, voice low with excitement. “That’s the one.” 

Roadhog easily tore the lock off the gate that was meant to close it off. There didn’t seem to be anyone on site which made things easier. Junkrat had given Roadhog a knowing grin, tipping his head to indicate he should go first. “It was meant to be.” 

They entered the building, footsteps echoing and reechoing in the empty space. Junkrat spun around in the center of some kind of lobby, spitting in disapproval as he came to a halt. “Can you believe they’d waste precious money on something so- so blatantly tasteless and disgusting as this? Ooohh, let’s be friends with the homicidal garbage cans! That’s the idea of the century!” 

Roadhog nodded his head in agreement, sharing the sentiment of disgust. He watched as Junkrat made a rectangle out of his fingers, squinting one eye as he looked around through them. “Yeah, yeah, I’m feeling my inner muse. C’mere, tiny. I need you to give me a boost into that air duct.” 

Once Junkrat had been lifted into the vent and slithered away there was only so much Roadhog could do. He bore the bomb planting with great patience, following Junkrat up onto each level, helping him in and out of vents as needed. Junkrat was using very small detonators, ones Roadhog had only seen him use once. He had thrown one at a cop car chasing them and it had flipped multiple times. It would be enough to bring down the stupid glass building. 

By the time they got to the top flight, Roadhog was wheezing a bit. They were in what looked like it was shaping up to be a very important room when Junkrat clapped his hands together once and announced, “We’re finished!” 

He stalked along a large set of wires on the floor, mumbling to himself about what Roadhog could only guess at, but was cut off suddenly by the sound of an alarm tripping. Junkrat stood up quickly, stumbling over himself, and looked around with a wild look in his eyes. 

“What! They didn’t trip before. What’s all this about?!” There was no point in trying to figure out why. The police would be on their way and they needed to be clear of the area. Roadhog gestured towards the stairs but Junkrat shook his head. ”I already set a timer for the bombs! This building’s going down, mate!” 

As if on cue there was a rumble from stories below and Roadhog groaned. It was not the first time Junkrat hadn’t thought of an escape plan and he supposed that was on him for not bringing it up earlier. Roadhog walked to one of the overly large and extravagant windows, looking at it thoughtfully before breaking it with his brass knuckles. He grunted at Junkrat, who hobbled to his side. 

“Ohhhh, gonna try and jump over? It’s pretty far, isn’t it?” Roadhog grunted again and got down on one knee. It took Junkrat a moment, but when he caught on he burst into laughter, clambering up onto his back and hooking his arms around his neck, legs scrambling at him. His peg leg poked into his side. 

Roadhog backed up a bit, the floor shivering violently as the sound of bombs going off grew louder. “The place is going down! You gotta hurry!” 

With a quick nod Roadhog braced himself then charged towards the window, giving a mighty leap. A deafening blast hit the backside of them while they were still halfway between the buildings, propelling them violently through the window across the way. They slid a few feet, Roadhog bracing his body to take the brunt of the fall. 

Junkrat slid off his back and they took a moment to watch the building they’d narrowly escaped from crumble to the ground, Roadhog slowly reaching over to pinch a strand of Junkrat’s hair that had been on fire. 

“That,” Junkrat said slowly, before throwing his fists into the air. “Was amazing! What a bang! Even better than the movie, mate!” 

Except now there were sirens in the distance. Junkrat giggled as they made for the stairs, tripping off a second alarm in the fully operational building. The scramble down was horrible and Junkrat nearly ate shit several times, finally opting to slide down the handrail for the last few flights, complaining constantly about how it squashed his balls. The two made it out just as police were pulling up to the first building, looking confused. 

“No good, they’ve got a gate.” Junkrat was already hurrying over to a big truck, probably used by whoever was constructing the equal opportunity bullshit building. It was unlocked and he immediately set to hotwiring it as Roadhog made his way over. Another bang went off in the building and Junkrat hopped into the driver’s seat, shutting the door. 

It took a moment for what had just happened to register, but when it did Roadhog ran over and tore the door open, looking wildly at Junkrat who gave him a look of confusion in return. “Hurry up and get in the car, mate.” 

Roadhog began to vehemently shake his head no. There was no way in hell. He might have been a dying man, but that didn’t mean he had to throw what little life he had away. Junkrat managed to pull the door shut and quickly threw his hand down on the lock, pointing a finger towards the passenger’s seat. “There’s no time! Get in, flubber.” 

The thought crossed his mind to simply rip the door right off the damn truck but Junkrat was right about there being no time. Already the police were starting to spread out. He gave a frustrated growl before hurrying around the side of the truck. No sooner had he thrown himself inside did Junkrat smash his peg leg against the accelerator, sending them hurtling towards the gate. 

Roadhog braced himself against the dashboard as they smashed through it, Junkrat cackling. “Can’t catch us, you bastards! Oh, wait, look they’re coming this way.” 

A cop car swung around, sirens flashing on as it started to speed after them. Junkrat’s teeth clenched in a severe frown as he glanced in the rearview mirror, then eased up into a grin. “Brace yourself. We’re in for a bumpy ride.” 

Junkrat took them down the main street at twice the speed limit, taking dangerous turns around corners without looking. The police in this city were clearly unacquainted with people of their caliber and were having trouble giving chase. A few veteran assholes kept coming, sirens blaring. They had never dealt with anyone like them before, though, certainly not with Junkrat at the wheel. 

The car rounded another corner, showing a bridge in the distance. Junkrat floored it, heading in its direction as more cars joined the chase behind them. Roadhog held onto the door for his life, wondering vaguely if a helicopter would get involved this time. He had just started to warm up to the fact that Junkrat was driving when he broke the news. 

“Looks like the bridge is going up. They must be onto us! Come on, Roadhog, stop looking like you’re about to piss yourself and give me some moral support!” 

“If you go over that bridge I’ll kill you!” 

“What? But if we don’t we’re screwed! Oh come on, don’t give me that look!” Roadhog’s face had come very close to Junkrat’s, the threat radiating off of him. “Fine! I’ll turn around and give them a bit of a chase the other way.” 

Junkrat started pressing down with his peg leg but the car didn’t slow. If anything, it continued to accelerate. Roadhog gestured sharply to the bridge, which they were rapidly approaching as it’s sides grew further and further apart. Junkrat shook his head, glancing down briefly. “I’m trying, mate, but I think it’s stuck!”

Roadhog looked up ahead of them, calculating how much time they had to get turned around. The answer was not a lot. “Then get it unstuck!” 

“Roight!” Junkrat glanced down at the pedals, taking his hands off the wheel for some reason that only made sense in the depths of his deranged mind. 

Roadhog’s hand shot out, steadying the wheel as they began to swerve. “What the hell is wrong with you?” 

“I’m trying to see the problem! Just give me a second.” Junkrat ducked further into the seat, muttering to himself as he tried to fix it. 

Critical seconds ticked down and Roadhog’s expression finally hardened into that of a doomed warrior. He quickly grabbed the back of Junkrat and yanked him up into a sitting position. “What do you think you’re doing? I just figured out what the problem is.” 

“Too late. Keep the accelerator down.” Roadhog pointed the wheel straight and true, keeping a tight grip on Junkrat.

Behind them police cruisers were screeching to a halt, not batshit insane enough to follow their path. The road beneath them began to tilt upwards as they hit the bridge. They rapidly approached the tip, the car shooting off onto nothing. For a few seconds they were suspended in the air, hurtling across the yawning, empty chasm. Junkrat cackled psychotically while Roadhog yelled beside him the whole way down.

The truck landed with just one corner hanging off the edge and righted itself quickly. Junkrat kept the accelerator jammed down and they veered into a tunnel, rushing through it. It was empty, which was pretty miraculous. Roadhog sat prone with one arm up over the seat to lock himself in. 

“You’re being a big baby. I have this all under control. Don’t you trust the boss? Feh.” They exited the tunnel and Junkrat turned off onto a side road, taking them further away from the city. 

They drove for some time, keeping an ear out for sirens. Junkrat kept up with the backroads, getting them further lost. It was the best way to avoid any pursuers. They finally turned in the brush behind a billboard, hiding themselves there and straining their ears. Nothing. They looked at each other, staring for a moment before they simultaneously broke out into raucous laughter. 

It took a long time to die out, leaving both with severe stitches in their sides. Roadhog slumped back against the seat, wiping the sweat from the back of his neck. By all rights he should be strangling the crazy fuck right about then but it couldn’t be denied that the rat made him feel alive. 

Roadhog looked over at him, an easy threat on his lips. The words stayed suspended there a moment but were never freed. Instead he looked at him, distracted by the shine of adrenaline in Junkrat’s eyes. The feeling from the night before slipped into his chest, giving him pause. He would go a while between thoughts about fucking Junkrat so it was unusual to have it on his mind so soon. 

In the time he took to think on it, Junkrat calmed down enough to look up at him, slumping back against the seat. His eyes met Roadhog’s through the mask without wavering, an easy grin on his mouth. Roadhog was reminded of how easily he could pick up on whether or not he was looking and how he always knew exactly where to look. 

“That was crazy, mate,” Junkrat said with a deep sense of satisfaction tinged with giddiness. He shook his head appreciatively, lifting up his peg leg and kicking it against the radio. He got the button and slow pop songs filled the car. Roadhog didn’t change it this time. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who's read, left kudos, commented. We're really grateful that you're enjoying the story. We really love these two and put a lot into these chapters. Like, to the point that we plan what songs are on the radio :') If anyone has any songs they listen to while thinking of the junkers, please let us know in the comments! 
> 
> We tried a Junkrat pov with this chapter so hopefully it's good!

A fuzzy pop station blasted the oldies as Junkrat and Roadhog tore down a mostly empty highway. They had been driving for a while and Junkrat had long since become bored, singing along with the songs he knew and yelling garbled nonsense in tune with the ones he didn’t. Usually Roadhog would have drowned him out with the bike, but he hadn’t this time. 

Coming to Europe had been the right decision. Their world tour had ended altogether too soon and now they were getting to relive it. Roadhog was having fun, Junkrat could tell. It was a hoot watching him indulge in all the foreign food. The big bastard loved it. Life on the road suited them well and the time spent back in Junkertown alone in that shack felt like another life - one he was fond of, but was unwilling to trade for the present. 

Junkrat looked over at the massive man beside him and immediately a welling of warmth expanded in his chest. He reached over and elbowed him sharply against the side of his gut, deciding he’d been silent for too long. “Should stop soon! Get some snacks.” 

Roadhog didn’t even offer a passing glance but Junkrat could make out the sound of him grunting. Junkrat chewed his tongue, smirking. The big lug was hungry, of course he was. Something fizzled at the edges of his mind like sparks when he remembered Roadhog’s uneasy appetite and then it snapped suddenly, like a broken thread, and he was scrambling to put his thoughts back in some kind of order. 

Junkrat blinked, not sure if any time had passed or not. Snacks. Were they stopping for snacks? Before Junkrat could confirm it with Roadhog he became distracted by the song on the radio. The lyrics made him think of Roadhog in what most people would have called a stretch, but the association brought that exciting feeling back into his chest, like a bomb ticking its way to detonation. He started singing along, smacking Roadhog’s arm every few lines to let him know he was thinking of him. 

He usually was. So often and so obviously so that he knew Roadhog was aware of it and therefore thought of them by proxy, too. His ingenious manipulation of the music situation had been the perfect crime. Like a tightly wound packet of firecrackers all going off at once. He wished he’d planted something a little more flashy in that building the other day. Next time he would for sure. 

“Oi, Roadhog!” he yelled when the song ended. “Remember the time when we were getting food in Dorado? Right before we blew our way into the bank?” 

Roadhog didn’t respond, but he knew he was listening. 

“Yeah, the place that served those tortillas you liked so much? You remember the look on the server’s face when they got a look in our bag and saw the bombs?” 

There was a rumble of laughter that nearly melted into the thrum of the bike’s engine and Junkrat joined in, slapping his leg. Getting Roadhog to laugh always felt like a victory akin to pulling off a successful heist. He could perfectly imagine the curve of Roadhog’s mouth beneath his mask, and when he tilted his head a bit Junkrat knew immediately what had tickled him the most.

“I know, right? Practically pissed himself when you stood up, hoo boy!” It was a pleasure revisiting those memories, when he could get them to fire correctly. If he talked about them all the time then he figured he wouldn’t be able to forget them completely.

“Remember--” Junkrat was ready to launch into a recap of the entire adventure, the leadup to planting the bombs, stealing the gold-- and then just like that something in his mind snapped sharply out of place. His face went slack, enthusiasm melting away into a hollow, empty expression as something in his brain bottomed out. “Remember…” 

He tried to sift through the thoughts again, follow them to where they began, but the pathway was completely inaccessible. Junkrat was sure that what he had been trying to get at had been important, an important memory. He came back to the present, blinking hard from the dust in the road and looking over to Roadhog in confusion.  

Roadhog stared outwards at the expanse of road before them then turned to glance at him. The look was longer than was safe while driving, but it had never stopped him before. It was a reassurance that it was okay that he’d forgotten. The disjointed thoughts began to settle in Junkrat’s mind, the frustration easing. Yeah, sometimes the thoughts just went poof. 

And then in sharp focus was a memory of Roadhog gasping on the floor of a bar-  _ Where? Australia?  _ \- unable to catch his breath, clawing at his throat, and why hadn’t he told him it was alright? The frustration reared up with a shrieking edge of anxiety that had Junkrat’s whole frame jittering. 

It clawed at his brain as he tried to make sense of a handful of shards, pieces of a picture that had to do with Roadhog and _ if he could just remember everything for one second.  _ The bike suddenly jerked to a halt and Junkrat jumped, metallic fingers drumming nervously on the sidecar. He looked around uncertainly and then up at Roadhog, who was staring at him, then nodded behind him. 

_ Snacks.  _

They had pulled up to a truly sketchy gas station, the dirty windows covered up mostly with sun-bleached ads that Junkrat couldn’t read. Roadhog hauled himself off the bike, staring at him, waiting. After a moment of mental collecting, Junkrat followed suit. 

The two made their way into the convenience store, immediately gaining the distrust of the single balding employee. Junkrat wandered the aisles, unable to process any of the items he passed until he came to a bag of chips. He stared at it, eyes moving over the letters until he had mentally sounded them out. Reality snapped back into place for a moment and he called over his shoulder, “They have barbecue!” 

Roadhog would love that. He pulled two into his arms, looking around with more fervor. He managed to locate a cooler with some questionable sandwiches and snatched all of them up, balancing them carefully. One fell off as he limped into the next aisle to find his companion. The heifer was crouched down, looking through an assortment of snack bars. Junkrat knocked his peg leg against his knee to get his attention. “Is that fig? Grab some of those.” 

The employee was getting antsy, shifting back and forth behind the counter. Maybe he recognized them. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility and Junkrat shot him a toothy grin, earning a startled look. He cackled and bent over to snatch up an entire box of chocolate bars, shoving it under his armpit. 

He nudged Roadhog’s back, trying and failing to stifle a giggle as he cupped a hand around Roadhog’s ear and spoke in a voice a little too loud to be considered a whisper. “I think we’re making him nervous. Maybe we should give him a good reason to be, if he’s going to be preemptively stereotyping us on account of looking like maniacs.” 

Roadhog glanced down the aisle then up at Junkrat, giving a single nod. “Roight, then. Grab what you want and then we’re going to  _ blow  _ this place.   


He burst into a fit of laughter right into Roadhog’s ear, who calmly shoved his pinky into it and rubbed. Junkrat flashed a wolfish grin at the attendant to keep him on his toes then started to limp down the next aisle. It was far less promising on the snack front and he was about to hobble his flat ass back to where he’d been when something caught his eye. 

Next to some mysterious products that Junkrat suspected might be soap was a shelf of cheap nail polish. His eyes widened with glee as he began to rifle through them. The stuff on his nails was starting to chip and a fresh coat was in order. After tossing a few rejected colors to the ground he finally clasped onto a bottle of black filled with chunky pieces of glitter. They reminded him of bits of shrapnel after an explosion, and that filled him with a warm fuzzy feeling. 

Content that he and Roadhog had a good haul, Junkrat knelt down and pulled a long string of firecrackers from his back pocket. They weren’t very destructive, but they were the loudest ones he had. Sort of sounded like rapid fire gunshots. They had a long fuse, too, something that would only add to the tension. He felt a giddy little twist in his gut as he struck a match, lighting the fuse. He tossed them onto the shelf and giggled, hurrying towards the front with their spoils. 

“Oi, Roadhog! Let’s go!” The shop attendant stiffened up, eyeing them nervously in the vain hope that they intended to pay. Junkrat stopped in front of him, grinning madly and enjoying the suspense of the silence before bursting out. “You lookin’ at my leg, mate?” 

The man was visibly sweating. He looked from Junkrat, to Roadhog, to the parking lot which was empty other than their bike, back to Junkrat. The sweat increased. Junkrat had to subdue the desire to squirm, mind on the fireworks he’d left. His toes curled as he imagined them going off. The attendant cleared his throat. “I’m… My English is not so good.”

“I said,” Junkrat said slowly, glee rising in his voice as he lifted his peg leg up. “You lookin’ at my leg? Got a problem with people who got a metal pole instead of a leg?” 

“I--” The man began to mumble in Italian, clearly confused and alarmed by the way Junkrat was shaking his leg at him. If there were firearms kept under the counter he would have taken them out by now. Junkrat was pretty sure that was illegal here. Lucky for them. 

“Spit it out, mate.” Excitement rippled deep in his stomach and he thought of how short the fuse would be now, the building they’d brought down the other night, the way Roadhog had fucked up that one gang member in Dorado who’d messed with them before the bank heist. They had crossed the wrong duo. His eyes flicked over to his partner in crime. “Did you hear what he said about my leg, Roadhog? Pretty rude thing to say to the boss, don’tcha think?” 

Roadhog let out a low, thoughtful growl, then rolled his neck and shoulders. They cracked loudly, the sound giving Junkrat a fizzle of excitement. He slammed his hook down hard on the counter, the tip splintering the wood as he brought his face within an inch of the man’s. Junkrat bit his lip, tittering as he flinched away with a sharp yelp. 

“Thought you’d agree. Guess there’s no choice.” Junkrat’s fingers were twitching so badly he could barely hold onto their score. “You’re going to have to defend my honor.” 

Just as the attendant started presumably begging for his life the fireworks went off. The man screamed, dropping like a stone as all strength went from his legs. Bursting colors and whizzing shrieks filled the enclosed space, flooding Junkrat’s system with adrenaline as he began to cackle at the top of his lungs. 

Roadhog followed suit, his deep laugh booming out alongside Junkrat’s. He started at the man like he was going to reach around the counter, causing him to flinch on the floor and Junkrat giggled in delight. They grabbed a few more things off the counter just because they could and left the shop, still laughing at the man’s expense. 

The food was dumped into the sidecar and Junkrat jumped in, pulling his legs up to his chest to make room. He sifted through the goods as Roadhog started up the bike and handed him a sandwich. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d eaten recklessly on the road. 

“Nicely done!” Junkrat took a bite of a fig bar and groaned with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. It was delicious. Roadhog snatched one up from him as they swung out of the lot. “Got something fun for later, mate. Let’s stop early tonight.” 

Roadhog grunted in response, nearly swerving someone off the road as he handled his sandwich. Junkrat thought back on the man who was probably just now pulling himself up off of the floor. The world was full of poor saps like that, easily taken advantage of and fucked with. It gave Junkrat deep satisfaction to see them on the receiving end. The feeling was completely different than with the tin cans, though. 

His mind traced around the image of Roadhog threatening the man, over and over until the novelty had worn off and the tingling feeling it gave him subsided. He thought instead of the gang member in Dorado, pissing his pants as Roadhog towered over him - the way he’d screamed when Junkrat had thrown a cherry bomb at his dick. It made him giggle anew and he enjoyed the clarity of the memory. 

The spoils they had taken gradually diminished as they cut their way down the road. Junkrat lost himself in fragments of good memories and the music on the radio, completely forgetting about the extra treat he’d grabbed for them. 

-

The two of them drove until the sky bled orange, at which point Roadhog announced he’d had enough of it for the day by pulling off to the side of the road. They moved far enough from the road that no one would bother them then set themselves up for the night. They didn’t have much but the weather was good and they had a few extra sandwiches to gorge themselves on for dinner. 

Junkrat was off in the bushes when Roadhog grunted at him. He ignored him and a second grunt came, more insistent. “Hold your damn hogs, you know I can’t piss faster than this, mate.” 

After a few more seconds Junkrat shook himself off and zipped up, hobbling over to the fire Roadhog had kindled. “Now what is so important that you have to take a man away from a personal moment like that?” 

Roadhog glanced up at him, shadows licking over him as the flames flickered. He held up a small bottle, the nail polish that had completely slipped Junkrat’s mind, then indicated with a nod of his head for him to sit down. The excitement of initially finding the nail polish returned and Junkrat eagerly collapsed across from him, shoving a hand up in his face. “Really make them shine!” 

Roadhog grabbed the meat of his hand between two fingers, pinching it in place to avoid any extra wiggling. He opened the nail polish with one-handed ease and brought the tiny brush up to the dirty fingers. Junkrat tried extra hard to stay still, squirming in his seat to redirect the nervous energy. Even with the amount of twitching and fidgeting that usually occurred, Roadhog always managed to make clean work of his nails. 

This was something they had done since their first stint in Europe. Roadhog had found nail polish by chance at a souvenir shop and swiped it. Junkrat hadn’t believed his eyes when he’d first seen him bent over the tiny bottle, but once he’d had a good laugh he’d demanded Roadhog do the same for him. Roadhog had surprisingly deft hands for someone so massive. He could work wonders with a can opener. 

“Well, look at that, mate.” Junkrat leaned forward, admiring the first coat he’d put on his hand. The chunky bits looked great. “Just beautiful.” 

While they waited for the coat to dry, Roadhog started on his own nails. He always took up significantly more nail polish doing his and it tickled Junkrat something fierce. It was unfortunate he didn’t have all of his limbs. The polish just didn’t look right on the metal. 

“You should do my toes, too.” Roadhog gave a sharp grunt of refusal. Junkrat tittered to himself. Someday he’d get the big lug to do it. 

As Roadhog brought the brush over his pinkie nail in careful, even strokes Junkrat admired watching him work. He loved the concentrated stiffness in Roadhog’s shoulders, the show of control in keeping his own hands from trembling as he worked. He ran his tongue over thin lips, absentmindedly waving his fingers to help them dry. 

A fae mood overcame Junkrat, the desire to be a little mischievous and a little flirty. He had to lay a really good line down, something that would get Roadhog blushing under that mask of his. The words came to him like a vision silhouetted by a burst of fireworks. “It’s really amazing how you work such delicate instruments. Is that how you’re going to handle my dick?” 

Roadhog turned his head up to him in a slow, laborious movement and stared him down with unbridled disgust. It was pretty rude of him to be exasperated with Junkrat when he’d gone to the trouble of snatching the nail polish. He was just mad because Junkrat was right. It was only a matter of time, after all. 

“Don’t look at me like that, you drongo!” Junkrat laughed at him, but let it go. Roadhog started on his own nails again and Junkrat lifted his close to his face. He liked the way the polish smelled, but Roadhog had been livid the one time he’d bumped his nose against them and ruined his work. He took some care to avoid that, enjoying the way they looked. 

The hefty fucker had been good to him recently. He’d gone the whole drive without drowning him out. What a trooper. Not to mention the incident with the radio, spraying him in the face, and generally being a bastard to Junkrat. It was sweet, really, the way his guilt had eaten at him until he’d become a broken man, desperate to repent by taking him to the movies. Make him think twice about doing Junkrat wrong like that. Still, he was a benevolent man and he had already forgiven Roadhog for his attitude. 

Junkrat supposed, as the boss, it was only right that he do something nice for him. Plan something fun that they could really get a bang out of. He thought briefly of their heist in King’s Row, the museum they’d robbed. Roadhog had looked downright kingly riding out of there with that crown on top of his head. Junkrat couldn’t recall what they’d done with the things they’d stolen. Had they put those on the cart in Junkertown? Or were those the ones that had fallen into the river? 

It hardly mattered. A heist was in order, but what? He was pretty sure they had crossed the border into France a while back, the foreign on the signs had indicated as much. That’s right, they were on their way to get those little pancake looking thingies Roadhog liked. What was in France… art? There had to be art museums. Yeah, yeah, Junkrat could appreciate art! It was decided. 

“New destination, my orders. Paris, mate. We’re going to break into the loo- that one. You know the one. The artsy place.” 

Roadhog painted another meticulous strip down a nail before looking up at Junkrat. He could sense Roadhog trying to decide if it was worth it to feed him the place’s name and was glad he didn’t, because Junkrat would forget it two seconds later if he’d bothered. He gave a low grunt and nodded. 

Junkrat grinned widely. “Excellent. We’ll teach these pretentious dickheads that art belongs to everyone, and by everyone I mean us!” 

The fire popped beside them, the unexpected sound giving Junkrat a jolt of excitement that made him itch to blow something up. He almost stuck a nail into his mouth then quickly switched hands, chewing on a metallic finger as he began to scheme. He didn’t believe in things like looking at blueprints or timing or really anything most people would constitute as a plan. Junkrat was an improv man, and with someone like Roadhog on his side it hadn’t failed him yet. 

He was knee deep in half-baked plans when Roadhog reached over and plucked up his hand, starting on another coat of paint. He arranged his own hands carefully, the clunky glitter making each huge nail look like the cosmos. Junkrat stared at them, giddiness building in his guts. The two of them were going to have a blast. 


	7. Chapter 7

“Places like this sure are unnecessarily decadent, aren’t they?” 

The junkers stood outside a museum of Junkrat’s choice, picking their way in. Roadhog had smashed a security camera and Junkrat was making quick work of hooking an explosive up to the door. His original choice of the fancy art place had been discarded when they had found locating it to be a chore and in his impatience Junkrat had chosen the museum closest to them. Less likelihood of being detected before they’d found something good, too. He hurried away from the door just as the lock was blown open with a bang, then sprinted back in excitement. 

Roadhog’s hook came around his waist and Junkrat was pulled back with an awful hurking noise. “What’s the big idea?”

Roadhog shook his head, stepping past him to locate a few devices on the side of the door. In one quick swing he obliterated them with his hook. The rat was lucky he didn’t use that lethal force to pull him away. The thought clearly didn’t even enter his mind as he hobbled past Roadhog excitedly, making his way into the building. 

The two walked through the halls, Roadhog disabling security devices in the most brutal way possible just before Junkrat could trip them. It was always like this. Junkrat stopped in front of a sculpture, slapping a device onto the bottom of it and setting the timer. 

“This one won’t go off ‘til business hours! Shame we won’t get to see it, really.” Roadhog looked in his direction, shrugging one shoulder. “True! Guess we’ll have to catch it on the news later. It’s just not the same.”

Roadhog certainly agreed with that, but there would be more explosions. For the time being he was more preoccupied with making sure they got in and out. Sometimes Junkrat’s minimal plans were a pain in the ass but honestly Roadhog liked the challenge of it. It always made things exciting. 

Junkrat had his eyes out for the best score. Now that they weren’t explicitly going after shiny things for the queen, there was a little more freedom in their choices. It would be interesting to see what struck his fancy, as it could differ greatly from heist to heist. One time he had insisted on robbing a bank so he could have the experience of sitting in a bathtub filled with money, but upon achieving his goal had called the experience lackluster at best. 

Junkrat contemplated an intricate oil painting of a landscape, nose wrinkling. “Ugh, who cares about some grass and plants, am I right? What does this say other than the artist has been outside? Boooring.”

He continued on, stopping short in front of a picture of three yellow dots in slightly differing shades. “Now  _ this _ ! This is art, mate. Really speaks to me. Don’t know what the fuck it’s saying but I like it!” 

Roadhog thought it looked like shit, but what did he know about art. They continued to peruse down the hall, Junkrat offering running commentary on each piece they passed. This was how museums should be enjoyed, blessedly free of people and their shitty kids. 

They turned the corner and located an elevator. Junkrat made a beeline for it and Roadhog followed him in, the compartment sinking precariously under him. Junkrat mashed a few buttons at random and the door shut. “Mind moving to the side, mate? You’re taking up all the room.” 

Roadhog did no such thing, watching their progress on the lighted numbers above the door. It was then that something truly mysterious happened. One of the numbers lit up without their prompting, the doors sliding open at the next floor. 

An exhausted looking man stood there, worn down by the toils of the world. He blinked at the two of them tiredly and for a moment the three stood regarding each other without comprehension. 

“Shit!” Junkrat was the first to snap out of it. He panicked and in one fell swoop lifted his metal arm, lunged forward, and cracked the man over the head with it. He fell to the ground like a limp fish and Junkrat screamed belatedly, kicking him with his peg leg. “They’re onto us, mate!” 

That seemed unlikely. Roadhog stepped out of the elevator, the doors trying and failing to shut on his frame, and stood over the unconscious man as Junkrat flitted anxiously around him. He nudged the man with his foot then grunted, unconcerned. Judging by appearances the unlucky fuck was probably the curator or something. Hardly anyone they had to be worried about.

“Maybe so, but we shouldn’t take any chances! We need to take him hostage. Quick, tie him up with something.” Roadhog looked around them then at Junkrat to indicate there wasn’t a damn thing to do it with. “What, you can’t use that huge chain? What good is it then?” 

Roadhog sighed, wondering if it wouldn’t just be easier to kill the guy, but then dutifully started to wrap his chain around the man’s body. It was an inconvenient setup, considering the chain was attached to the back of him. Rather than carry the man on his back he chose to drag him along the floor. It was more tedious but also more hilarious. 

“Good! Now keep an eye on the bastard.” Satisfied that things were under control, Junkrat continued forward, picking back up on his commentary like he knew the first thing about art. In truth he probably had more interesting things to say about the pieces then any kind of ‘expert’ that wanted to blather on about them. They stopped in front of an art piece that looked like some kind of doorway into hell and Junkrat just about lost his mind. 

“Look at this one! I’ve had days like this.” Junkrat said it while wearing a smile. “This one looks like a keeper!”

Roadhog could agree it was pretty metal. It almost seemed a shame to steal it, though, and he tilted his head at Junkrat. The boss nodded enthusiastically in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right. Better leave this one up, it deserves to be seen.” 

They continued along the hall. A few paintings came close to Junkrat’s standard, but never quite reached it until they found themselves in front of a reasonably sized painting of an obese woman surrounded by cherubs and grapes. Junkrat crooned at it admiringly. “She looks like you, mate.” 

Roadhog grunted in approval, nodding. This was the one. He reached up and began to rip the painting from the wall with his bare hands. It was actually pretty difficult and took a little while. During the time he was doing this, the man began to slowly come to consciousness. Junkrat was immediately distracted, walking around him antsy as fuck. He kicked the man sharply with his peg leg. “Oi, wake up!” 

“What...?” The poor sap had been whacked pretty heavily over the head. It was impressive he was able to grasp the fact that he was being spoken to in English. Horror dawned slowly on his face and he began to struggle. “What are you doing! Let me go!”

“No can do, mate. If we do that you’ll run off to get the police and we haven’t finished our tour of the museum yet.” Junkrat shoved him around a bit, taking pleasure in the act. “Best sit quietly until we’re done. No telling what’ll happen if you make my friend mad.” 

The man jerked his head around, registering Roadhog for the first time, and his face went pale. He stuttered French, wiggling his way back as much as possible as Roadhog finally ripped the painting from the wall. 

Roadhog looked down at him, letting out a snort of amusement. Poor fuck had picked a bad day to work after hours. He turned his gaze towards Junkrat, lifting up the painting in success. “Want me to crack him over the head again?” 

“Nah, we can’t just leave him here. What if he wakes up again and calls the police before we can make a clean getaway? Better take him with us.” Roadhog gave him an even stare for even suggesting one of his hits wouldn’t be enough to put the bastard in a coma for a month. Still, if Junkrat was tickled by the idea of a hostage so be it, but if he was coming along then he was pulling his weight. 

“C’mere.” Roadhog reached for the man, who let out an impressively high pitched scream. He jerked him into a standing position as he balanced the painting precariously, grunting at Junkrat to take it for a second. Junkrat obliged with some grumbling. 

The curator began crying as Roadhog adjusted the chains around him so his arms would be free. It was extremely distasteful. Couldn’t people have a little more dignity in the face of their potential demise? After giving the chain a sharp tug to make sure it would hold he snatched the painting from Junkrat’s jittery fingers and shoved it into the man’s hands. “Drop it and die.” 

The man sobbed, clinging to the painting and both trying and failing to get ahold of himself. While it clearly delighted Junkrat, he was starting to tire of it too and smacked the guy roughly on the arm. “Stop crying. It’s not so bad.” 

That just caused him to blubber anew and Junkrat scowled in disapproval, looking over at Roadhog. He appraised him for a moment then nodded. “Give him the boot, mate.” 

Their hostage registered the words, gaze traveling to Roadhog’s boot. He stared at the spike there, clearly visualizing exactly what would happen if he received a kick with it and stifled a scream, quieting up. Junkrat gave Roadhog a wolfish grin and elbowed him a bit. “Shut him up quick, didn’t it?” 

Satisfied with that level, they made their way back to the elevator and all three of them squished in. Junkrat’s ample complaints filled the compartment the entire ride up and were only cut off when the three stepped out and in doing so tripped an alarm. 

Junkrat let out a startled cry, which made the man flinch. Roadhog sighed deeply. It was always something. Junkrat started shoving them both back into the elevator. “Come on, come on! We gotta get out of here now!  _ Someone  _ didn’t take care of the alarms like he was supposed to.” 

It was technically true but Roadhog didn’t appreciate his tone. He glared as well as he could with Junkrat more or less embedded into his side. “Maybe I could have taken care of it if someone didn’t barge out of the elevator before I could.” 

“What? I’m the boss. It’s your job to compensate for any of my potential oversights, so don’t you get sassy with me.” 

Roadhog growled unhappily, giving Junkrat’s back a rough push as they reached the ground floor. “Oi, don’t you start manhandling me just because you know it’s the god given truth!” 

The man whimpered, still standing in the elevator, and Roadhog gave him a sharp tug. He stumbled forward, struggling not to drop the painting as he recovered his steps. Having this guy along was such a pain in the ass, but somehow less so than Junkrat in all his bitching. 

Getting out of the museum was not nearly as fun as breaking in. They got stuck around the gift shop where Junkrat insisted on taking a moment to look over the wares despite the police that were most certainly already on their way. When he was finally satisfied he hobbled on over and they busted their way out the way they’d come just as sirens approached.

Here was where they ran into a very big problem. There was only room for one in the sidecar and despite how much sense it would make to dump the man now, Junkrat insisted they take the hostage with them. “What if they catch us and we need him for negotiating?!” 

Through a complex system of rigging Roadhog managed to get the man tied to the front of the sidecar with the chain, dumping the painting in Junkrat’s lap. The man realized belatedly what was happening and began screaming. Junkrat whapped him with his foot to shut him up. “Onward!” 

Roadhog pulled out of the back, tearing down the street and grabbing the attention of several police. They gave chase, but Junkrat was on it. He had his grenade launcher in hand, propelling bombs behind them. Unfortunately his aim wasn’t the best with the painting under his arm and they mostly just succeeded in making a lot of noise. 

“Hit them!” Roadhog bellowed in annoyance. 

“Don’t tell me what to do or how it’s done! Give me a minute!” They didn’t have a minute. Junkrat aimed with his tongue between his teeth and got one of the cars. He crowed loudly in delight, drowned out by the man screaming as they took a turn. 

Cars slid in behind them, the next bomb striking the closest car and starting a domino effect of chaos behind it as it flipped. He clapped a hand against the painting in delight. “Did you see that? Ha!” 

They snaked their way through narrow streets, sometimes barreling down the sidewalk and sending people skittering out of their way. Their hostage kept screaming and it was starting to piss Roadhog off. They should have left him behind but who was he to argue with the boss?

“Oi, the sirens are starting to get close again. Go left,  _ left _ .” Junkrat started gesturing while trying to hang onto the painting. 

Roadhog grunted in annoyance. “If I go left I’ll end up in the canal, you idiot!” 

“No,  _ my _ left!” Roadhog glanced over and saw that Junkrat was indeed still facing backwards to take on the cop cars. He grunted and turned right, taking them down a back road. They wound through a narrow strip of alleyway, eluding their pursuers. The man was blubbering again and Junkrat gave the front of the sidecar a hefty whack of warning. 

“Are you going to kill me?” The man had a desperate tone to his voice. 

“Hooley dooley, does this guy ever shut up?” A lone police vehicle turned into their alley and Junkrat launched his bombs far enough that they blew up right in front of it, causing the cop to swerve and crash. He bumped Roadhog’s arm with his elbow. “You’d better pull us off the main roads, mate, they’re coming in hot.”  

Roadhog grunted in agreement, making a few tight turns that had them scraping by cars and people alike. Sometimes he got the sidecar a little too close to things just to hear the guy shriek. As if he would fuck up the bike just to kill a random hostage. What an idiot. 

Junkrat continued to watch their backs, sometimes lobbing off random bombs to create a little extra chaos. He banged on Roadhog's back roughly as they made a particularly clipped turn onto a road. "Oi, watch it! Almost lost the painting and then what would we have to show for our hard work? Some random French guy? No one needs one of those." 

Roadhog revved the engine, making it jerk forward and sending Junkrat splaying back into his seat, clutching onto the painting. He let out a gruff laugh, which earned him a glare before Junkrat softened and joined him in his laughter.  "You crazy bastard!" 

Gradually the sound of sirens started to fade and they disappeared into the seedier part of the city, pulling into a dark alleyway to regroup. "Boy, that was a close one!" 

Roadhog shrugged. They could have taken more than that. "What do you want to do with the painting?" 

Junkrat stood, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Nooot quite sure. How do you think we should carry it around? Kind of big, ain't it?"

Roadhog tilted his head. They could hypothetically strap it to the sidecar, but that was a pain in the ass he didn’t want to have to deal with. Maybe they should just destroy it. He looked over to convey this notion only to find that the rat was already nodding, caught on the same train of thought. 

“We’ll set it out somewhere public. Strap some bombs to it, get a real scare going. Might not get to see them detonate, but it’ll be beautiful. Another one to catch on the news.” It sounded solid to Roadhog. He gave a nod. 

The whimpering from the front of the sidecar was starting up again and Junkrat heaved an exaggerated sigh just as Roadhog gave a huff. They were both sick of the little shit. 

“How long are we planning to keep him, anyways? He’s really starting to grate on my nerves.” Junkrat gave him a look that implied it was his fault. Roadhog lifted his arms sharply in the universal sign of not fucking knowing. It was Junkrat who had wanted him in the first place. “Well, get rid of him. He’s overstayed his welcome.” 

Roadhog was all too happy to loosen the chain, taking his hook back and dumping the guy on the street. He continued to blubber, crawling away and shaking like a leaf. Junkrat threw a firecracker at him and he gave a shriek. Junkrat tittered until the mood left him and he turned to Roadhog. “Guess we’re sleeping outside again tonight. Hope you packed your pillow. Better stop for some food, find something good. Which reminds me.”

Junkrat reached into his pocket, pulling out a tiny keychain. “Nicked this from the gift shop before we left. No need to thank me.” 

The keychain was tossed towards Roadhog and caught in a meaty fist. He uncurled his fingers to look at it, leaning in to make it out. It was a chintzy decoration for foreign tourists, the rubber face of a little pig with the name “Francis Bacon” under it. It was pretty damn adorable and Roadhog coughed out a laugh. 

Junkrat wiped his nose against the back of his hand, looking pretty pleased with himself. “Yeah, thought you’d like that you dirty pig lover. Now let’s get a move on.” 

Roadhog took the time to attach the keychain onto the key’s for the bike before sitting heavily back on the seat. He gestured with a jerk of the head for Junkrat to hop in. He clambered into the sidecar, shaking extra hard with excitement. The heist had been a success and now it was time to give the people of Paris a little piece of performance art. 

-

There was no understanding what the news anchors were saying about the break-in at the museum, or about a valuable painting going out with a blast in a public space soon after, but neither Roadhog or Junkrat needed words to understand the footage, the shock in the eyes of those they interviewed. Junkrat smacked Roadhog’s arm, the two of them tucked in some lowbrow bar specifically to watch the coverage on their heist, as the man they’d taken hostage blubbered on the screen. “That guy was a real pill, wasn’t he?” 

Roadhog chuckled in agreement, the two of them clinking their glasses as they replayed footage of the painting blowing up for the third time. They made bets between them about how long it’d be until their faces started getting flashed around in connection to the incident. By the time they left the bar they were pleasantly sloshed and in the highest spirits they’d been in since they’d reached Europe. 

Junkrat sang loudly as they started for the outskirts of town for a place to camp out, the cool night air feeling good on Roadhog’s skin. They had stolen a decent sized feast from a mini-mart on their way out and chowed down like kings. Junkrat stretched out, mouth half-full as he addressed Roadhog, “Kind of liberating not having to haul around a bunch of stuff, isn’t it? We can just steal things then blow them up! Unless we want to keep it, of course.” 

Now that Junkrat had the idea in his head, Roadhog doubted that they would do much else. Whatever treasures they wanted to keep would serve some sort of purpose, like the pig keychain Junkrat had snagged. Roadhog belched in response and Junkrat laughed. 

“I’d give it an eight. Could have had a little more force behind it, mate.” Junkrat gave a long and exaggerated yawn, reaching absently for another snack. “Don’t think I much care for France. Paris is filthy, but they think they’re posh. I can’t stand the lies they tell themselves.” 

Roadhog didn’t particularly care where they went, but he could agree with moving on. People were bound to catch on to them eventually. Not before he had his crepes, though. He grunted sharply at Junkrat who waved his snack in the air dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll get you your food, don’t worry.” 

Pacified, Roadhog shoved a croissant into his mouth. He would give it to the French, they could cook. Junkrat’s voice became a pleasant white noise as Roadhog gorged himself until he was nearly sick. He contemplated the amount he’d eaten, wondering if it was less than usual and if Junkrat had taken note.

When he looked over he saw Junkrat had passed out in the sidecar, mouth hanging open, and marveled at the fact his brain could tune out snoring and talking in the same manner. The two had certainly earned a good night’s sleep for all their efforts, making the world a slightly shittier place. 

Roadhog laid himself on the ground, grunting in discomfort. Sleeping outside had been less pleasant recently, but like hell he was going to be the one to ask to find some cheap hotel. Junkrat would delight in tallying up the amount they spent staying the night someplace, even if he agreed to it every time. The grumbling thoughts gradually traded out for thoughts about the heist and Roadhog faded into a deep sleep. 

-

Roadhog awoke to a tearing in his chest. His eyes opened and the night sky swam just beyond his mask. He reached up to make futile clawing motions at his throat as though there were something weighing down on it that he could pull away. There was nothing. 

Images of laying on the floor of the bar in Australia came back to him, the burning in his throat and his brush with death. He drew in a wheezing breath of air, barely able to get any oxygen at all. His head throbbed sharply as he drew himself up and lunged his weight to the side, leaning into the sidecar and nearly crushing Junkrat completely as he desperately searched for a canister. 

“Huh-whah? What’s going on?” Junkrat scrambled up, nearly falling out as Roadhog’s body heaved beside him with huge, hacking coughs that wracked his entire frame. Junkrat gave a squawk of confusion, but pushed himself out of the sidecar and onto the ground, popping up to look him over frantically. 

Roadhog’s hand closed around a canister and he quickly pulled it up to his mask, hooking it in and taking a deep breath of chemicals. Immediately there was relief, but the pain in his head doubled. He kept breathing until there was nothing left in the canister, taking in the taste of the medicine and the relief of finally being able to pull in air. 

Junkrat stared, fingers twitching wildly as he stood lost on how to help. He sank down, eyebrows knit with concern. “You alright there, buddy? Yeah? You’re okay now?” 

Roadhog blinked at him and when he tried to respond he coughed roughly a few times. It passed, leaving him a little dizzy, and he nodded. “Fine.” 

Junkrat’s eyebrows raised with uncertainty. He started chewing up his lip as Roadhog slowly pulled himself into an upright sitting position. “What was that?” 

Roadhog shook his head, willing the little spots in his vision to disappear. It wasn’t important. “Nothing.” 

The air grew tense around them, Junkrat beginning to pace. He was getting worked up but it would blow over. It always did. “I don’t know.” 

The words were small, but cut through with something almost like betrayal. Roadhog looked over at him, taken aback. “I said it’s nothing.” 

Junkrat shook his head sharply, jamming a nail between his teeth and chewing it. His eyes were distant and a bit wild. “No, no, no. I don’t know what you’re thinking. I can’t tell. Why don’t I know?” 

The question settled heavily over them. Junkrat continued to mutter to himself, chewing the polish off of his nails as Roadhog took as much of a mental step back as possible. He examined the moment with uncomfortable clarity. 

Junkrat hadn’t been right since that night in the bar. His mood had gone up and down, but there had been a consistent edge to it that had tinged everything they had done. Roadhog had waited for it to go away and it hadn’t, which left him with a very inconvenient fact - it was his fault. And if he didn’t do something about it then it would follow them wherever they went. 

Roadhog eyed Junkrat and waited for the words to come. It was never something he had planned on telling Junkrat and he found himself at a loss in anticipating how the rat would react. It was a blank space in his mind, filled with different scraps of a reality about their partnership that he didn’t usually face. 

With a useless heave of his shoulders he gestured towards nothing in particular and told him. “I’m dying.” 


	8. Chapter 8

The two words hung heavily in the air, brutal in their honesty. _I’m dying_. The longer it took for Junkrat to have any kind of reaction to them, the less they seemed to have any meaning. Roadhog had never feared death, but he was sure as hell uncomfortable waiting for Junkrat’s response to it.

Junkrat’s mouth was twisted into an uneasy frown, but it slowly started to curl upwards and he let out a few, awkward chuckles. “Ha, right. Dying. Aren’t we all?”

  
Whatever Roadhog had expected, it wasn’t that. He grunted. “Well, yeah, but I mean in the short-term sense.”

Junkrat laughed harder, the sound possessing a steely edge. “Of course, just look at you. You’re just bursting to drop dead any second of a heart attack. I keep telling you to eat a leaf or something but you never listen.”

There was a mild buzz at the back of Roadhog’s skull, the headache still saturating through it from his earlier attack. He wanted to go back to sleep. “I’m sick. I’ve been sick. It’s gotten worse.”

The forced smile wilted then curdled altogether. “That’s not funny anymore. Stop saying those things.”

“They’re the truth,” Roadhog laid out flatly, maybe even a little harshly. Junkrat had to understand. He didn’t get to lie to himself about this one. “I’m going to die soon.”

Junkrat had begun to shake his head, the motion taking on a life of its own and keeping his body swaying as he rejected what he was being told. His expression was slowly becoming twisted at the edges, pulled taut. He stopped abruptly and fixed Roadhog with a stare straight through his mask. “Take it back.”

That was as childish as it was impossible. Roadhog held his ground, watching Junkrat as he grew more agitated then came to a breaking point. He stood and began to pace around restlessly, moving here and there, mumbling to himself all the while. He had chewed a chunk of nail polish clean off when he wheeled around and faced Roadhog again.

“ _Take it back!_ ” It was the first time Junkrat had ever raised his voice seriously at him in anger and Roadhog felt his head tilting slightly. Briefly the thought of taking the words back flitted through his mind, but he immediately dismissed them, unaware of their origin.

Junkrat gave a frustrated whine and marched over to him, reaching up and grabbing him by the strap over his chest. He yanked himself forward, unable to pull Roadhog anywhere. “You’re not going to die.”

Roadhog hadn’t exactly expected him to accept it with grace, but the outright denial was not a great start. “It doesn’t work that way. It’s going to happen.”

Junkrat’s chest puffed up as he sucked in a deep breath, expression hardening into something similar to when he got on a real tirade about Omnics. “No!”

“Yes.”

The anger became tinged with a new emotion, which Roadhog identified as betrayal just as Junkrat began to pound on his chest with his metal fist. “You just want to leave me, don’t you? You’re trying to abandon me!”

Confusion cut with the pain in his head and Roadhog paused for a moment. This was another thing he hadn’t expected from Junkrat, but he supposed it made sense. He had been easy to peg the moment they’d met. Roadhog shook his head.

“No.”

“Liar!” Junkrat raised his fist higher this time, readying to bring it down on Roadhog’s mask. He hesitated just a moment and hit him hard on the shoulder, causing a dull throb to go through the area, agitating his throat. Roadhog coughed sharply and Junkrat made a shrill sound close to a shriek. “You’re lying!”

Roadhog allowed more battering than he had ever stood for with anyone else. Even when his chest was starting to ache he didn’t shove Junkrat away, allowing him to hit him until his expression had torn up completely. The rat ripped himself away and turned around, wandering from side to side as if looking for some sort of solution. His eyes caught on the sidecar and he wheeled around again.

“You have the-- you can--” Roadhog waited patiently as his brain struggled with the information. “You have that medicine. It fixes it, right?”

Roadhog grunted, his throat burning a bit as he did. “Never fixed it, just helped control it. Besides, I’m running low.”

Junkrat continued to shake his head, then whirled back around towards the sidecar. He dug through it, maybe counting them. His head craned back to look at him. “Why didn’t you tell me? What- what, you were just going to drop dead and leave me- Leave me- We’re best mates.”

The last sentence was dripping with pain, without understanding. However, he had caught Roadhog on that one. It kind of had been his plan to keep going until he simply stopped. It had never occurred to him it was kind of a shitty thing to do because, well, he had been pretty busy trying not to think about it at all.

The train of thought was broken when Junkrat screamed, “Say something!”

He had nothing. Even a grunt of reassurance wouldn’t come. The two stared each other down as Junkrat’s breathing grew uneven, then harsh. He whipped himself around and began digging in the sidecar again, pulling out one of his larger, more devastating bombs that he kept in a hatch. Roadhog recognized it as one he used to demolish buildings.

“Fine.” Junkrat’s voice held a dangerous edge to it now. He began nodding to himself, reaching for a match with twitchy fingers. “If we’re going out, we’re going out with a bang.”

Roadhog caught on quick. This was an outcome he should have thought of before. There was no point in trying to calm Junkrat down from it. If Junkrat wanted to blow them both up then it would happen. Frankly, it wasn’t a bad way to go out. It certainly beat choking to death. Roadhog watched as he struck the match and brought it close to the wick, then froze.

For a while Junkrat just stood there, the match burning down closer and closer to the fuse. He was breathing so hard it was a wonder the flame didn’t go out and he shook violently. Junkrat met Roadhog’s eyes through the mask and stared him down, searching for something. Whatever it was, he didn’t find it.

The match dropped from his fingers and he made a pathetic sound, some of the fire leaving his eyes. The bomb was dropped back into the sidecar and he sank against it. “You idiot. You big, stupid idiot!”

Junkrat’s shoulders began to shake, quiet sniffling rapidly descending into loud sobs. He started pounding his human fist against the sidecar, the hollow banging echoing around them as the sobbing transitioned into wailing. It reminded Roadhog of a dying animal.

He slowly sank completely to the ground, as if all the strength had been sapped from him and even crouching had become too much. Junkrat cried so hard he began to hiccup, breath hitching painfully. When he tilted his face up it was a mess of snot and tears.

“We could go back to Australia.” The words were hollow and Roadhog didn’t bother to tell him no. Junkrat knew he would refuse and he could hear it in his voice. “We could get your medicine.”

Roadhog watched him, observing the pain and fluids. Junkrat crawled towards him, scooting on the ground until he came close. He had often sat snug to Roadhog in situations where he had to - elevators, sleeping arrangements - but it was the first time that Junkrat had come over only for the purpose of closeness. He didn’t shove the rat away when he tucked himself against his side, curling up tight.

“What am I going to do?” The words were quiet, almost inaudible with the strain. “You’re my best mate.”

Roadhog’s brow furrowed, wishing he had any words for him. He was not a man of condolences, but even if he was there were none for this. What was there to say, sorry I’m dying? Sorry I set a time bomb in my lungs the day I helped destroy Australia?

Junkrat whimpered softly beside him, too exhausted to cry anymore. There was nothing to say to comfort him, so instead Roadhog reached over and placed a large hand on Junkrat’s back. Other than to pull him out of danger, he couldn’t remember having ever done it before. Junkrat immediately responded, curling deeper into the touch.

For what it was worth, he was sorry in his own way. The past few years had been the best he’d had in ages. It occurred to him that maybe it was a fucking rotten thing, to have to die so soon.

-

Junkrat woke up feeling much warmer than he had any right to in the early morning chill. He dozed in and out, brain feeling heavy and burdensome in his skull. As he drifted closer to consciousness he became aware of the fact that he was squished between two very warm surfaces, his back covered by something hot and a little dry. He blinked awake, blearily turning his head up to look at Roadhog, who was fast asleep leaning against the bike.

A bloom of warmth filled his chest along with the sleepy sense of accomplishment that the big lug had finally given in and let him steal his warmth. It only lasted a moment before a terrible, looming feeling lurched through his stomach and set him on edge. Junkrat pulled in a sharp breath and pulled himself into an upright position before he even knew why.

Roadhog’s hand fell away and he shifted, snorting in his sleep. Junkrat stared at him with wide eyes, desperately trying to assemble the shards of his memory. There was something wrong. Something very, very bad and it made him feel like Roadhog might disappear right before his eyes.

The memory came back like a slap in the face. Junkrat grit his teeth, eyes widening, and turned his head away. It hurt to look at Roadhog just then. His eyes flitted around, desperate for anything to latch onto, and finally fell on his smudged reflection in the sidecar. He stared at himself as if for the first time, taking his own expression in until everything made sense.

Roadhog was leaving him. And he didn’t want to. He was going to die. The three thoughts circulated in his mind over and over. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He wanted to go with him, had a vague memory of attempting it the night before, but for some reason it had been impossible to cut their time any shorter than it already was.

Thinking about it left a raw feeling in his guts. He didn’t want Roadhog to go. A welling of fresh tears started down his face so suddenly he didn’t even realize they were coming until they were dripping down his nose and chin.

He idly wiped them away as he continued to stare at his warped reflection. Without warning his thoughts began to waver and he felt them slipping away. Junkrat scrambled to hold them tight, willing himself to remember no matter how badly it hurt. This time he wasn’t allowed to forget. It was too important.

There was stirring beside him and his body tensed. Roadhog snorted and huffed beside him as he woke up and Junkrat eventually became aware of his gaze. He slowly turned his head but still couldn’t look up at him. Junkrat was sure if he did then his memories would start scattering like marbles.

The two didn’t exchange a word as they began what had become their morning routine. Junkrat dug around in the food they had left with no intention of eating it while Roadhog took a leak on a bush. Roadhog looked over the motorcycle while Junkrat tweaked a few things on his arm. One of the fingers was out of whack.

Roadhog climbed onto the bike and Junkrat threw the trash out of the sidecar, settling down inside it without his usual chatter. The engine revved and they pulled back onto the road, heading for a town.

-

Roadhog watched Junkrat through the lense of his gasmask as they waited for their food. They had stopped at a small restaurant that was unlucky enough to be open that early. The owner had been appropriately horrified by them, but Junkrat hadn’t even given as much as an idle threat. They sat quietly like real customers at a shaky table, Roadhog’s chair creaking ominously under him.

Junkrat hadn’t looked at him properly all morning or said a damn word. Normally these moments of reprieve were taken with as much enjoyment as he could muster, but this was just wrong. It couldn’t be helped. Junkrat would deal with it in whatever way he would and Roadhog would live with it.

The thought that the rat might leave suddenly crossed his mind. It wouldn’t be unreasonable - who wanted to stick around a dying man? He would accept that outcome if it came, but it was the first time the thought had ever entered his head. Junkrat liked things he could throw himself into one hundred percent. If he couldn’t anymore it would make sense that he would fuck off. Roadhog eyed him, trying to determine whether or not that was the case.

Junkrat’s expression was downright solemn. He sat slowly turning a fork in his hand, glancing off into the middle distance as thoughts Roadhog couldn’t sense tugged at the corners of his mouth. Junkrat’s eyes darted over to him just as four steaming plates of crepes were brought and placed in front of them.

Roadhog waited for Junkrat to look at him again, but he didn’t. He dug into the food, lifting his mask to take a few bites. They were just as delicious as he had remembered. The sound of the TV in the back room played and Roadhog caught it out of the corner of his eye. It was playing footage from the museum they had robbed where Junkrat’s bomb had finally gone off, terrifying an unknown number of patrons. He couldn’t even find amusement in it.

“Oi.” Junkrat’s voice cut through the thick discomfort between them and Roadhog looked over, pausing for a moment before shoving more crepe into his mouth. He chewed, waiting. Junkrat spoke slowly. “If this… is it. Then we need to do something about it.”

Roadhog followed his train of thought warily, uncertain. He doubted he would suggest they return to Australia again, but he didn’t know what ‘doing something about it’ meant. Junkrat gestured towards him with his fork.

“A bucket list. You’ll need to make one. Don’t know how much time we have, but we’ll prioritize.”

It wasn’t what Roadhog had expected, particularly because it was such a rational sentiment. Bucket lists were for old people with 401ks that wanted to take a cruise to the North Pole or some shit. He wasn’t even sure how Junkrat knew what one was.

Junkrat raised an eyebrow at him. “What? I’m always trying to get you to pull some creative weight, so now’s your chance. Whatever you want to do, we’ll do it. Doesn’t even have to be explosions. Like if you want to go to some cute animal museum we’ll go. The key to the city is in your giant, sweaty hands.”

After Junkrat’s reaction the night before it was surprising to see him bounce back so quickly and Roadhog was once again stricken by how resilient he was. There was some relief, which took him by surprise. Seemed the rat was sticking with him til the bitter end.

“Now, don’t look at me like that. I’m not letting you get off easy this time, you’re going to have to think of something. I won’t forget.” Junkrat stuck his fork into a crepe and started tearing it apart. Roadhog wasn’t even entirely sure that was how you were supposed to eat crepes. He concentrated on the food rather than what Junkrat had just said for a solid minute.

He was content to keep on as they had, but these were orders from the boss. A bucket list couldn’t be too hard to make. He owed Junkrat that much. Nothing came to mind and he realized he was feeling exhausted despite having a full night’s rest. He somehow doubted it had as much to do with his illness as the general mental state. The sooner they shook this off the better.

“Aren’t you going to eat, mate?” Junkrat peered over at him and Roadhog realized belatedly that he’d stopped eating. He shoved the fork back into his mouth and pulled his second crepe over.

After demolishing a plate of crepes, Roadhog pushed it away with a belch. The circumstances had left the experience a little lackluster but they were still just as delicious, and that was good enough. He turned to look at Junkrat, tilting his head at him. “Oh, you’ve finally got something in mind, do you? Well let’s hear it. What’s first on the list?”

Roadhog had come to the simple conclusion that it didn’t really matter what they did as long as they were having fun and raising hell. “I want to eat at a really fancy place. I’m talking silverware etiquette."

Junkrat stared for a second, then the first ghost of a smile returned. “Fancy dinner, eh? Then I guess we’d best get ourselves a couple of tuxes.”

Damn right, they would. Roadhog motioned the server over to wordlessly order more crepes. If it was his executive decision then they were going to spend what time he had gorging themselves on something good. And they were going to look legit while they did it.

The junkers ate themselves sick on sweet French food, almost able to forget the night before.


	9. Chapter 9

“You clean up well, mate. Bet you’ve never looked this good in your life.”

As if Junkrat could talk. The two had gone to the effort of breaking into someone’s hotel room for this--they had taken a _shower_ for the opportunity to eat at a fancy restaurant. Getting in would take a little more than just busting in like they had at the vineyard. Roadhog wanted to be properly served by those fucks. He had located the perfect place, one where some tasting event was happening, and come hell or high water they would be there. But first they had needed tuxes.

“Been awhile since I’ve worn something so tight. Squashing my balls a bit, they’re used to being able to breathe, you know?” Junkrat pulled on the front of the suit pants, disturbing the worker who was rushing through the finishing touches. They had shown them enough gold that it had come the other way around and intimidated them. They were working hard expecting good payment. A suit in Roadhog’s size had been impossible to come by other than having it tailored. “You’re lucky I put up with so much for you. Are you listening to me?”

Roadhog gave a vague grunt to let him know, yeah, yeah he heard him. If he complained about his balls one more time, though, he was going to start tuning out the chatter. As a tailor went about adjusting something on one of the sleeves, seeming very uncomfortable while doing so, he suddenly realized that the complaints had stopped on their own.

A cursory glance over his shoulder in the mirror gave him a glimpse of Junkrat, arms now slack at his sides. He was staring off into some distant point, eyebrows flinching every couple of seconds while his mouth tugged down into an unhappy grimace. Usually Roadhog would have roused him immediately with a sharp grunt but he found himself hesitating.

Of course things wouldn’t go on like nothing had happened. It was possible Junkrat might snap at some point, and Roadhog was more or less prepared for such a possibility. He gave a soft grunt and Junkrat blinked once, twice. For a couple of seconds he seemed lost, looking with confusion at the cuffs of the tux. The grin slid back into place. “We’re going to be the best looking bunch those stuffy bastards have ever seen, eh?”

Content that Junkrat was alright for the time being, Roadhog gave an uncertain grumble and looked at himself in the large floor length mirror, wheezing a bit with the way the suit restricted his breathing. This thing was getting trashed the moment they were out of that restaurant. It was going to be worth it, though.

That food was going to be delicious. Foie gras and truffle and delicate little slices of fish or whatever. He had never eaten anything even close to the caliber of what they were going to consume and his stomach growled in anticipation. He hadn’t eaten anything since they’d woken up and he was going to devour everything in sight.

The tailor stood back, nervously indicating the suit he was wearing. “It is finished.”

Roadhog grunted in response and Junkrat snatched up his shorts, hobbling towards the bathroom. “About time! I have to take the worst shit. Don’t you dare leave without me, Roadhog!”

The man mumbled something in French and went off to process their transaction. Roadhog spaced out staring at the mirror, taking in the fact that despite the shower, the tux, and the fact that most of his face was obscured, he looked like shit. In his younger years he had held himself a little differently, though he couldn’t remember exactly how that had been. Junkrat ambled back, breaking the thought.

“Alright, I hope you’re ready. Onward!”

The two left the store, a bag full of Roadhog’s clothes and their gold slung over his shoulder with no intention to pay.

-

“A bit posh for me. Are we going to be crammed into those little tables? There’s no leg room!”

Roadhog grunted at Junkrat to insist he shut up.

“I’m sorry, _monsieurs,_ ” The word was hissed with disdain from the shitty garcon who was running the seating business. “But your names are not on the list and we simply cannot allow you entry.”

“Hang on, do you not know who we are?” It was Junkrat to the rescue, it seemed. Roadhog really didn’t feel like dealing with the man so he let Junkrat force his way in front of him, slamming both hands down on the small stand where the list was held. “You’d do well not to bar entry to Chadington Pompillious the Third and Maximillius de Sexquire!”

The man stared uncomprehendingly and Junkrat raised his hand, rubbing his fingers together in the universal signal for money. “Or maybe you’re expecting a hefty tip. Well, my friend, money is no object to us! You’ll be compensated handsomely if you put our names on that list. Just kick out a few of the undesirables and we’ll be on our way.”

The man squinted at him as Junkrat reached into his bag and pulled out a bar of solid gold. He held it forward and the man plucked it from his hand, staring unbelievingly. His brow knit and he carefully bent over the list, crossing out two names. “Maximillius de…?”

“Sexquire, yes. Make sure you spell it right.”

They were in.

Junkrat elbowed him sharply as the garcon indicated for them to follow him, gesturing grandly that he should go first. Roadhog lumbered forward, having no qualms about pushing chairs and people out of the way as he went, even when it proved unnecessary. They were finally seated towards the back, a clear ploy to keep them out of sight and out of mind. Good fucking luck, was Roadhog’s sentiment.

The chair creaked under him but held, and Roadhog checked out the table’s spread. There were at least four different forks, he was pleased to observe. He only intended to use one, _if_ they were lucky. Junkrat plopped down across from him, crossing one leg over the other. It made it more obvious that he’d glued a shoe to the end of his pegleg but they had now proven themselves rich enough to be eccentric rather than slovenly.

The garcon’s mouth puckered with displeasure but the bar of gold hung heavily where he’d tucked it in his pocket. “The first course will come shortly, _monsieurs_. Here is a list of wine for your consideration. I personally recommend the Château Margaux.”

They were handed a menu covered in accent marks and lacking any prices. Junkrat looked it over as if he could understand a damn word of it. “Ah yes, I’ll take ehhhhh that one.”

He pointed to a random line on the list and the garcon raised an eyebrow at him. “That is the name of the restaurant, _monsieur.”_

“Do you think I don’t know what I’m doing?” Junkrat bluffed with far too much confidence. “Bring me a sampler of everything on here! This is a tasting, ain’t it?”

The man opened his mouth then closed it. It practically receded into his face with disgust.

“Me too,” Roadhog grunted in solidarity. The garcon had nothing he could say to that and turned on his heel, leaving to presumably go get them their wine. Junkrat slapped his hand on the table.

“Talk about pissing your money away! And I thought we’d receive good service here.” The people at the adjacent tables were starting to shrink away as the first course was brought out, some sort of pâté. The two stared long and hard then simultaneously scooped it up onto their fingers and stuffed it into their mouths. Junkrat groaned happily. “Tastes great, though!”

Roadhog agreed, but that was a pathetic amount of food. He had known they would be small, but that was hardly a bite. He would reserve the hammer of judgment until the next course. Their wine sampler was brought and placed carefully across the table. Junkrat immediately began throwing them back.

“Gotta drink to get through it,” he told Roadhog. “With portions this small, you need the alcohol to fill the space in between.”

Roadhog could get behind that mentality. He lifted his mask a little more, smelling the delicate bouquet then taking a swig so hearty it drained the glass. Quality. The second course was brought out and the two were staggered by what appeared to be pastry crumbs, a dash of sauce, and not much else.

“What the hell is this? It’s nothing!” Junkrat picked up one of the crumbles and tried to dip it into the sauce to no avail. Roadhog licked his plate. “What a racket. Excuse me, garcon!”

Junkrat banged his metal hand against the table until the server reluctantly came over. “How may I serve you, _monsieur?”_

“You can start by serving me food! Look at this nonsense you’re pawning off as a meal.” He gestured across the table to Roadhog. “My friend is going to starve!”

The server gave Roadhog a slow, disdainful look. “I am sure he is in no danger of that. If you please, the next course may prove to be more… fulfilling.”

“Well, it better be. I shelled out good money for this.”

Amid Junkrat’s grumbling, the next course was brought - a thin, white soup. The junkers drank greedily, draining the bowls. It was delicious. Roadhog licked his lips, then the bowl. Junkrat was growing more incensed, downing the rest of his wines. “Should have eaten something before we got here.”

That was for sure. What a mistake. Roadhog sipped at his wine, holding it in his mouth to savor it. He was pretty sure that was what you were supposed to do. He watched Junkrat wave their server over again only to be ignored. He finally caught the attention of the person who had seated them, waving his hand until he reluctantly came.

“I would like to lodge a complaint.”

“... _Oui_?”

“This is terrible. The sizes are dismal, and the food isn’t that good.” The man stared uncomprehendingly. Junkrat turned to his companion for support. “Isn’t that right, Roadhog?”

Roadhog belched in response and the man gaped, first in repulsion then in confusion. “‘Roadhog?’ What is this? Disgusting!”

It seemed the jig was up. At least on pretending they were respectable eccentrics. Junkrat took deep offense. “He may be disgusting, but we’re paying customers! Bring out some meat, why don’t you, put it in my mouth!”

“I will do no such thing!”

“Baby bird it to me, you fuck!”

Roadhog finished up his wine and slammed a hand onto the table. The entire room had gone quiet by now and just as it seemed everything was about to kick off, an omnic emerged from the kitchen. Roadhog immediately recognized his attire as one of a cook and felt a roll of disgust for the food he’d already eaten. Shitty tin can.

“What’s this!” Junkrat squawked, pointing at the omnic. “A bot’s back there? I won’t stand for this.”

“We employ all regardless of whether they are human or omnic,” a server spoke up, puffing his chest out in superiority. They were really starting to ask for it. “How dare you bring such bigotry here?”

“First they take our land, then they take our portion sizes!” Junkrat leapt up and stood on the chair, throwing his peg leg--along with the shoe--up onto the table. In several desperate struggling motions he pulled the suit off, throwing it aside to reveal his shorts underneath. The servers and patrons alike stared in abject horror. “Reveal yourself, Roadhog!”

There were a few beats of silence then Roadhog admitted, “I just wore the suit.”

“You wha-? Now we’re inconsistent!” Junkrat gestured towards himself, then Roadhog, looking distraught. “We look ridiculous, mate!”

Roadhog considered the conundrum with very little sympathy. He finally hummed. “Can’t you just put it back on?”

“Oh, sure, just put it back on he says! Like it was easy getting the damn thing on in the first place! This body was not meant to house a shirt! Besides, it has duck sauce on it.” He pointed to the coat, which had fallen on a plate.

The omnic chef piped up helpfully, “That isn’t duck sauce.”

“Quiet, you!” Junkrat cried, pointing an offending finger in its direction. “You went and pulled a stunt on the wrong blokes, you French pastry puffs! You’ve personally offended the one and only infamous crime duo, Junkrat and Roadhog!”

Roadhog picked up a crumb of food that had fallen onto the table, casually tossing it into his mouth. “Criminals, huh? Thought we were going by freedom fighters now.”

“Roight, roight,” Junrkat said, waving him off. “Freedom fighters! From omnic oppression! That includes you, you ugly tin can, feeding people weeds and crumbs and enough to make a baby starve then jacking up the prices!”

The waiter from before stepped forward, surprisingly bold. Perhaps he wasn’t aware of their track record because he had the nerve to look unimpressed. “Both of you must leave immediately! You are not welcome here.”

The Omnic continued to look around in confusion, deceptively mild in demeanor. “My apologies, did I make something wrong? Is it someone’s birthday?”

Roadhog picked something out of his teeth with his nail. “If I say it’s mine do I get dessert?”

“That’s not the point,” Junkrat intervened, completely incensed. “They’ve bamboozled us, Roadhog!”

Junkrat shoved a hand deep into his pocket, pulling out a bomb. He giggled as he fished around for a match. “Now it’s our turn to show our hospitality.”

The response to the bomb was immediate. A few people screamed and immediately began scrambling back. It wasn’t long before the entire room was in an uproar, everyone rushing for the exits. No alarms went off and it became apparent that the restaurant was woefully unprepared to deal with anyone like them.

“Where are you all going! Cowards!” Junkrat sniggered, raising the bomb higher and waving it. He lit the fuse and threw it in the direction of the last remaining people. It didn’t go off and Roadhog noted the long fuse. Smart. They would have time to eat.

“Come on, Roadhog!” Junkrat leapt off of the chair and the two made their way from table to table, eating the food off of the previous patrons’ plates. The food was much more delicious in mass quantities, Roadhog had to say. The extra spice of it being stolen made it perfect. Junkrat had been right, it was a racket.

Roadhog snatched up a couple of plates and they busted their way out a fire escape, the alarm giving a shrill cry that was completely drowned out a couple of seconds later when the bomb finally went off. They fled on the bike, which was waiting for them below, both of them cackling as they peeled out.

-

They drove for hours, cutting a path through the darkest part of the night. The last scraps of their tuxes had been left far behind but Spain was still a ways beyond their fingertips. That suited Roadhog just fine, who never really cared where they were driving as long as he had an open stretch of road.

At his side, Junkrat sang along to the songs on the radio. It was baffling how he could be at the mercy of the open air and still catterwaul away without losing his voice to dehydration but damn if he never did. It resembled countless times they’d had together and the familiar thrum of it all settled right in Roadhog’s bones.

Despite how badly Junkrat had taken the news, Roadhog was pleased to see him still throwing himself a hundred percent into their schemes. If he had been unable to, there wouldn’t have been anything to do about it and Roadhog wouldn’t have blamed him. It was hard to say whether or not the rat remembered completely, but the moment earlier that day had felt different than his usual descents into the depths of his mind. On some level, he remembered.

It was strange that after all this time together being on the same mental plane there were times where Roadhog had no idea what Junkrat was thinking. It was new and made it feel like their partnership had developed in reverse. It was a weird one, there was no denying that. Roadhog couldn’t remember having ever clicked with someone as well as he did with Junkrat. The most he had ever felt for anyone was a deep sense of respect.

It wasn’t that he didn’t respect Junkrat, because he did. The guy was a genius, as dumb as he was brilliant. But it wasn’t respect that kept him around and Roadhog suspected it was the same for Junkrat. This was the point in the thought process where the thoughts started to jumble and fold in on themselves and he stopped being able to make sense of any of them. He didn’t like it, so he usually stopped. But tonight he felt himself hooked into a loop, letting them circulate on themselves until they matched the thrum of the motorcycle beneath him.

Junkrat hit the refrain and began to gesticulate with his arms, wailing along with the song happily. Roadhog glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, then back at the road. He seemed pretty happy. He had thought that Junkrat might crash after the restaurant, but he hadn’t.

Roadhog turned his attention briefly to the lyrics of the song. It was some poppy tripe he didn’t care for, but he was aware of how Junkrat usually treated the music on the radio. It was always a stretch, but he made no mystery of the fact that he usually thought of them while listening. The current song had absolutely nothing to do with them, but he caught that it was about driving and night and Roadhog had no doubt that was close enough.

He grunted at Junkrat. “This one about us?”

Junkrat put up a finger as if to shush him, seeing out the chorus before he stopped to answer. “Course it is, mate! I’m the bloke in this one, you’re the sheila.”

Roadhog let out a loud snort of dissent. “That so? If you say so.”

“I do. Now sing with me, you shit!” Junkrat picked the song back up and Roadhog blatantly refused to join in. The affirmation lifted a weight he hadn’t known was there and he reached over, turning the radio up. Junkrat crooned, flashing him a grin before upping his own volume.

They barrelled down the highway, a roar of sound and chaos with nothing short of death in their way.


	10. Chapter 10

“I know you love your snacks, but I already told you that you’ve got to be more creative. We’re not going on a world cuisine tour.” Junkrat shoved what was maybe the sixth empanada he’d had that hour into his mouth as Roadhog started on his tenth. Roadhog tilted his head pointedly and Junkrat scoffed, sending crumbs everywhere. “It’s a wasted opportunity, mate. There’s more to life than eating. Have some ambition, like me!” 

They sat parked in an alley, sharing a well deserved feast after having strong armed their way into Spain. They had finally stopped in a city called Pamplona to rest, refuel, and regroup. Now that they were in a new country, Junkrat insisted that Roadhog start thinking about the next big thing. 

Roadhog didn’t deign to answer, contenting himself to eat and watch their surroundings. A dingy poster that he’d probably glanced at multiple times finally succeeding in catching his attention. Large, metallic bulls graced it and upside down exclamation points advertised...something happening that day. It pinged at the back of his mind then clicked into place. The running of the bulls? 

Roadhog reached over, nudging Junkrat to get his attention. He pointed at the poster. He wanted to do that. In proper junker style, of course. 

It took Junkrat a moment to latch onto the poster, but when he did he sounded out the words under his breath with as much comprehension as Roadhog. He eventually twigged on to what was being advertised, though, and his expression brightened. 

“I thought they stopped doing that after, what was it, that bloke got skewered? You can’t control animals, mate, not even with special precautions.” The bulls on the poster looked mechanical, though. “Those things look a hair shy of omnics if you ask me. Can’t be trusted. Anything with wiring can get all scrambled up and--” 

Junkrat went suddenly silent as a few things clicked to place in his mind. He cackled then started nodding. “Alright, bulls it is. I have an idea or two that might spice things up a little. Ever wanted to ride one of those, mate?” 

Now he sure as fuck did. Roadhog grunted, wiping crumbs off of his chest and grabbing another empanada. They’d have to stock up on some more, they were getting low. 

Junkrat giggled, a scheme hatching in his wily brain. “Oh, this one’s going to be good!” 

\- 

Roadhog stood guard at the exit of the large, shed-like building where the bulls were being stored. The two had been delighted to find that security was surprisingly lax. They had been there for the past half hour without incident while Junkrat played around with the insides of the machines and fucked with their wiring. The programming to keep them from running rampant in the streets was easy enough to undo with blunt force, he had said. This was going to be a disaster on a major scale. 

“That should be most of them. Can’t keep track of how many bulls are in here.” Junkrat came up from under one of the bulls, tossing a handful of wires and wiping oil onto his shorts. “Looks like these are set with timers so they don’t all run out at once. Better pick which one you want.” 

Junkrat examined them carefully as if there was a damn difference in any of them and clambered up onto the one nearest to Roadhog. He looked at him pointedly. 

“Go on, pick one!” 

Roadhog didn’t need to be told a third time. With a great huff he pulled himself up onto the bull next to Junkrat’s, having to rearrange his balls several times. This thing was uncomfortable as hell and hurt his ass. It would be worth it, though. Junkrat laughed when Roadhog gave a groan of discomfort as if his bony ass wasn’t hurting just as bad. 

“I don’t think that one’s going to support you, look at it.” The bull was indeed struggling, sinking under Roadhog precariously. The metal legs seemed to bend a bit but ultimately held, so he figured it was just going to have to do. Something at this angle caught his eye, though, and he looked down at Junkrat’s peg leg. 

“When are you gonna take off that shoe?” 

“Why would I take off my shoe? You want me to get some kind of foot disease?” 

“Not that one, idiot. The other one.” 

“Huh? Oh. That shoe. I’m kind of fond of it. Bit of a pain in the ass to walk with it on but it adds some flare. Might take it off tomorrow. Might take it off never.” He sniffed, as if making some kind of defiant stance. 

“It looks stupid.” 

“I don’t go around saying your shoes look stupid just because one has a spike on it!”

“It serves a purpose.” 

“And this shoe serves the purpose of- of…” Junkrat trailed off, gaze fading into some distant point. Roadhog grunted impatiently and he snapped back into the present. “Where am I? Why does my arse hurt?” 

Just then the doors opened with a snap and the first set of bulls were sent running. Junkrat flailed and threw his arms around the neck, Roadhog grabbing onto the horns of his, and both were thrown forward at an alarming rate. They barely managed to stay seated and were hurtled down a street full of spectators. The pathway was marked with two ribbons that would do nothing to stop the onslaught. 

Junkrat started to scream, possibly in terror or excitement, and Roadhog yelled along with him. The people viewing the event seemed a little put off by their presence, but they passed them too fast to make much of an impact. Junkrat seemed to take note of this, and hollered out over the sounds of stomping mechanical hooves, “Suck it, Spain!” 

He shrieked as his bull bucked and almost threw him off, but his hold on the neck was tight enough it probably would have killed a real bull. Junkrat yelled over to Roadhog, barely audible. 

“The first waves gonna blow, mate!” Roadhog huffed, looking behind them to get an idea of how far they had until the next group of bulls came up. Not far. “We’ve got about twenty seconds, I advise you exit the vehicle.” 

In a fit of sheer stupidity, Junkrat wiggled his way so that his foot was on the back of the bull and for some reason jumped back off of it rather than the damn direction they were going. It was as though he’d never seen a movie with a train scene. Roadhog watched him roll a few times then go motionless. He huffed and swung himself off the side, falling with very little grace, but certainly more than Junkrat. He pulled himself up and started running towards him, grabbing his skinny arm and starting to drag him along behind him. 

Junkrat was quick to recover after that and Roadhog had to wonder if he was faking it for the attention. If that was the case then Roadhog was pissed - they already had enough running to do. The two sprinted full tilt down the path. There had to be people running from the bulls somewhere ahead and they were in for a damn surprise. The sounds of the bombs going off and presumably bull parts scattering everywhere filled the air and Junkrat cackled loudly. 

“Beautiful!” 

What was not so peachy was the fact that the bulls were gaining on them. Roadhog wheezed as he ran, reaching over and smacking Junkrat’s shoulder with the back of his hand, waiting for the boss’ order. 

“Roight, uh,” Junkrat’s beady eyes flittered from one side to the other as he formulated an escape route. It was always his weakest part of every plan, if he bothered to come up with one at all. The sound of the bulls’ hooves thundering towards them was getting louder by the second. 

A huge, metallic horn nearly clipped Roadhog’s head as one began to pass them. It would be mere moments before the rest caught up. He grunted sharply at Junkrat. Junkrat was breathing hard, making little shrieks of panic.

He pointed suddenly towards a boarded up alley. “There!” 

Without a second of hesitation, Roadhog snatched Junkrat up and threw him. Junkrat squawked as he crashed through the wooden boards. Roadhog heaved himself over, grabbing Junkrat up again just in time as a dozen more bulls stampeded past. 

The two fell heavy and it took a few moments to regroup. Junkrat was the first one up, looking back out over the stampeding bulls. 

“Well, that was fun. A little lackluster, though, don’tcha think? Would’ve been better if we had a front row seat to the mayhem.” It was true. Still one off the bucket list, though. Junkrat made a very upset, pathetic little sound and lifted a filthy sneaker off the ground. “My shoe!” 

The ruckus out in the street was pierced with screams. It seemed that Junkrat’s other modifications were kicking in and the remaining bulls were starting to raise hell. Roadhog pulled himself up and was just about to take a peek out the alley when one came crashing in. It bucked dangerously, smacking against the walls and clearly malfunctioning. 

Junkrat screamed and leapt into Roadhog’s arms, clinging to him in a way that pulled his neck something fierce. Roadhog tried to get him off, but the rat clung on as tightly as he had with the bull. 

“What did you do to them?” 

“I don’t remember! I pulled a few wires here, ripped them out there--this one’s really messed up, though! Run!” 

Roadhog about faced and started sprinting again, lungs still burning. There would be hell to pay for making him run so much, but escape was the priority. They crashed down a side street, the bull smashing from wall to wall and destroying anything that got stuck under its hooves. It was exactly the result they’d been going for, but unfortunately pointed at them. 

Junkrat continued to cling, pointing in a blind panic. “That way! No, no that looks like a dead end, that way! Ah!” 

Roadhog would have yelled at him not to scream in his ear but he didn’t have the breath to spare. The bull made some ungodly screech of broken machinery, charging at them full force. Roadhog secured Junkrat against himself and grabbed his hook, confident the second he had the handle squeezed between massive fingers. 

“Watch your limbs!” He threw himself against the wall, letting his shoulder take the brunt of the force to avoid smashing Junkrat into it. The bull sprinted past them, close enough they barely avoided getting clipped by a horn. With a throaty yell Roadhog pushed away from the wall and sent his hook flying. It found its way around one of the back legs and Roadhog yanked his arm back hard enough that it burned. The bull jerked forward then lost its footing, crashing noisily into the ground. 

Junkrat gibbered, carefully clambering down onto the ground. He took a few steps forward, trying to get a look at the mess of mechanical legs. “Is it dead?” 

It certainly seemed to be. Roadhog huffed and put his hook away, overall pleased by the outcome of the chase. It had been a good one. Left his chest burning and muscles aching. Sirens were starting up and the screams of panic were full blown now. Sooner or later they would figure out someone fucked with the bulls, but they had pulled off the perfect crime. Who the hell was going to find them? 

The two stepped over the bull, Junkrat more or less back to normal and chattering about the places they had eaten at before and what would be good for dinner. They left a literal trail of wreckage behind them, having worked up quite the appetite. 

-

A spread of food from a number of street carts sat between Roadhog and Junkrat. Roadhog carefully observed it, determining what he wanted to eat first with the utmost seriousness. His lungs still ached from earlier but not so badly he needed to panic Junkrat, figuring he’d use one of his canisters after the rat had gone to sleep. 

Junkrat snatched up some kind of sandwich, watching Roadhog with undue fondness. “That really was a close call with the bull. I can’t believe you almost let the boss get trampled.” 

Roadhog took the time to give him a sharp glance indicating he was lucky he hadn’t thrown him straight under the bull’s feet. He snorted and turned back to the food, snatching up some kind of potato dish. 

Junkrat rolled his eyes but he was grinning. “Gotta admit, it did spice things up a bit. We really gave those people a bang for their buck!” 

He threw his head back and started laughing. It was loud, almost violent in how hard he was doing it. The sound warped, stuttered, and suddenly choked off into loud sobs. Roadhog slowly lowered the chunk of potato he was about to eat from his mouth as Junkrat sat with his face tilted upwards, fat tears dripping down his chin. 

This was the break in his mood that Roadhog had been watching for, but it was uncomfortable. Violent outbursts he could handle but the crying was different. Junkrat didn’t bother to wipe away the tears, turning his head to look at him with brutal honesty. 

“Nothing is ever going to be as fun again.” 

It was probably the truth. No one put up with Junkrat the way Roadhog did and it was statistically pretty damn unlikely he’d meet someone else who would. Their schemes were top tier. Roadhog wanted to be silent, but it didn’t sit right in his bones. He grunted at him once. 

“You gonna get a new bodyguard?” 

Junkrat laughed and for a moment he looked genuinely amused despite the snot starting at his nose. “What, are you afraid he’ll be twice as big and twice as smelly?” 

Roadhog snorted indignantly. “That’s impossible.” 

“True, true.” Junkrat drew in a deep breath, blinking hard as fresh tears made tracks down his face. “Nah, don’t be ridiculous.” 

But if not, then what? The question hung in the air until Junkrat picked it up. “I’ll probably go back to Junkertown. See if they’ll let me back in. As long as you’re not there it might be possible. The Queen really doesn’t like you.” 

Roadhog grunted in agreement, but the prospect was not a reassuring one. What the hell would Junkrat do if he got into Junkertown? Or, more likely, what would he do if he didn’t? It was an unpalatable thought. 

They sat in a heavy, uncomfortable silence. Junkrat reached up, wiping his nose with his arm as he hunched forward. He was deep in thought but his expression was different than the million yard stare he sometimes wore. Eventually he dragged his eyes up to Roadhog, studying him. 

His voice was low, wavering slightly. “It’s easier, when you’re around. Thinking. The thoughts don’t jump around as much. They make sense, mostly. It’s- It’s better when we’re together.” 

Roadhog met his eyes and watched him for a while. He had seen the places Junkrat wandered off to time and time again. He went to some fiery depths on a daily basis and Roadhog had been the one to pull him out of them ever since they’d started doing all this. There was no telling whether he’d even be able to make it back to Australia once Roadhog was gone. 

“Never had anyone go along with my ideas as much as you do. Nobody recognizes genius for what it is, you know?” 

Yeah, Roadhog knew. There were no answers for this. Roadhog had always said life was pain and he stood by it in times like these especially. They sat together, falling into the same murky thoughtfulness though neither of them said another word.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains a torture scene. It is not very graphic in nature, but it is there. There is also violence.

“This is living the high life,” Junkrat declared, dumping himself down onto the single bed in the room they had snagged for the night. It was small, but they would make it work come hell or high water. “My arse is so sore from sitting all day.”

They had spent the better part of the afternoon driving away from the city and into a more rural area, planning on laying low for a while until they had come up with a plan of what to do next. Roadhog’s stomach growled loudly and he dropped down precariously onto the only chair in the room. 

“What? Don’t sit down now, you big lug.” Junkrat splayed himself out on his side, supporting his head on his hand. He jabbed a thumb at the door. “I’m the boss and I’m telling you to go out and get food. Once you’re back we’ll figure out what’s next on the list. Don’t try to get out of it!”

Roadhog gave him a look like he was very much thinking of hooking him and dragging him kicking and screaming the whole way. Junkrat shot a pointed look his way. “You’d better keep that face to yourself! I’m the one that did all that hard work reprogramming the bulls. All for  _ your  _ entertainment, may I remind you. I’m exhausted!” 

He started scratching at his ear with his pinkie. Roadhog huffed in protest. He’d been the one to save the skinny bastard’s ass earlier and had done all of the driving and there he was, having the decency not to bitch about it all the time. The only thing that gave him pause was the memory of Junkrat’s earlier outburst. He was more or less acting his usual self but who knew how close those bad places were to the surface. 

Heavy circles were noted under Junkrat’s eyes, darker than usual, and Roadhog determined he’d cut the rat some slack that once. There had been some kind of general store a couple blocks away, if he remembered correctly. It wouldn’t take too much time to snag the food then hole in for the night. 

“Don’t let the door hit your arse on the way out!” 

Roadhog grunted sharply as a fuck you. He lumbered out with a great deal of reluctance, heading down the unfamiliar street. The store they had passed had been pretty small, easy to hit up without repercussions. 

Only it wasn’t as close as he remembered. Roadhog was wandering for a good while before he came to streets lit by store lights and even then he had some trouble finding it. Whatever. The rat could wait. 

-

Junkrat rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. It was covered in swirly plaster and it was soothing to look at. Being alone was always a difficult headspace to drop into because he had become so accustomed to being with Roadhog. He supposed he would have to get used to it again. 

At least the big idiot was having fun. He could tell. Every heist, every plan they came up with was a bigger bang than the last. Part of him kept expecting it to become commonplace somehow or to grow boring, but he knew that it would never happen. They were brilliant -  _ Junkrat  _ was brilliant and Roadhog was complacent enough to help him in his schemes. He snickered to himself, reaching up to scratch an armpit. 

Before Junkrat was fully aware of it happening his gaze slid over to the chair where Roadhog had been, chest aching with a sudden lack. It hit hard enough his vision blurred and he snapped his attention back up to the ceiling. Racing thoughts fought with random fragments of bomb blueprints and segments of song lyrics until his head was so loud no one thought could receive his full attention.

Junkrat reached up, clutching his head and shaking it sharply as he shrieked. Everything went quiet, more like a circuit short than a pocket of peace. He sat up abruptly, digging through his pockets until he found his screwdriver to tinker with his arm even though it was currently in tip top condition. He didn’t want more uncomfortable silence. When Roadhog came back he wanted to make the fat bastard laugh. 

The sounds of footsteps outside the door pricked his ears, but he quickly dismissed them as they were nowhere near as heavy as Roadhog’s. When the sound of the doorknob turning reached him he paused in his tinkering, craning his neck to look. Had the idiot forgotten to lock the door? Not that they usually did, but still. 

“Hey, who are you? We don’t need room service, get out of here.” 

A woman in a long purple coat padded into the room, looking around without a care. Several men in black with identical helmets and guns followed her. Junkrat slapped the panel on his arm shut in confusion, unsure of how to proceed in chastising them. 

“Oi! I’m talking to you. You’re in the wrong room.” 

The woman focused her attention on him and gave a smile, eyes narrowing slightly. She spoke with a thick Spanish accent. “Jamison Fawkes. Great to meet you, big fan of your work.” 

“It’s Junkrat, actually.” Nervousness began to build in his gut as he realized he was effectively blocked from all exits in the room. Where the hell was Roadhog? He always knew what to do when they were being threatened. “What do you want?” 

The woman reached over to the shoddy dresser, picking up the pack that was usually strapped around his waist. She turned it over with disinterest. 

“That’s mine! Hands off!” 

She turned her head to look at him, smile widening, but dropped the pack. “Hey, relax, Jamison. All I want is some information.” 

“Who are you people?” He didn’t trust them as far as he could throw them. Where were his bombs? All in his bag, he didn’t even have anything in his pockets. Why had he dumped everything in the sidecar? Usually he’d at least keep some firecrackers with him. Stupid! 

“You can call me Sombra. These guys are unimportant.” She took a few steps closer and Junkrat puffed himself up, scrambling on the bed a bit. “What  _ is  _ important is that you found a little something in the desert. Something my people really,  _ really  _ want. So you’re going to tell me where it is.” 

Junkrat’s eyes narrowed and then he snorted with amusement, stretching out on the bed like he hadn’t a care in the world. “Roight. You and every other sorry sap this side of the Outback. Sorry to disappoint you but that little secret’s safe with me.” 

His fingers twitched along the bedspread, his eyes jerking towards the door behind her every few seconds. The store hadn’t been that far, right? He just had to distract the thugs until Roadhog got back. He threw down a bluff. “Though if you’re a fan of my work I’d be more than happy to give you a taste of my wares.” 

“Ooh, touchy. Alright, how about you show me, then?” 

Dammit. Junkrat tapped his fingers on the bed restlessly. “Don’t feel like it.” 

“No? Oh good. Maybe you’ll feel a little more forthcoming, then.” 

“Don’t feel like that either.” 

“I thought you might say that. I’ll give you one last chance to tell me the easy way.” 

Junkrat felt a jitteriness run through him and once again glanced at the door. “Jokes on you. My friend will be back any minute and then you’ll have hell to pay. He doesn’t take kindly to people coming in and messing up our things.” 

“See, he won’t be a problem. We’ve already taken care of your little friend.” 

Junkrat froze. There was no way they had really done anything to Roadhog, right? He was next to invincible. “You’re bluffing!” 

“Am I?” Sombra snapped her fingers and two of the men came over, grabbing Junkrat. He struggled, shrieking loudly and kicking. He got one of the men roughly in the chest with his peg leg, but it was solid like metal. Some sort of vest. It did nothing to stop them. 

The men pinned him to the bed, holding down his limbs as Sombra calmly leaned over, pulling wires from a device on her wrist. “Whatever you found must be worth a lot to be struggling this much. A colleague gave me advice on what to use to get you to talk. Very effective, she said.” 

“I’ll never tell you! That’s  _ our  _ treasure!” 

“Treasure? Do you even know what it is? I think your friend does. He’s been doing a pretty good job of keeping you safe up til now, but you see,” she knelt down in front of him, flicking his forehead with her nail. “You’re playing with the big boys.” 

She pulled the wires up, pressing them to his forehead despite his struggling. They hooked into his skin painfully and he screamed in frustration, trying desperately to bite her. Sombra just laughed. 

“No more chances, Jamison. Where is this ‘treasure’ you found?” 

“Piss off!” Junkrat spat in her direction. 

“Too bad. And I thought we could be friendly about all this.” 

An electrical current ran out of the wires, translating into excruciating pain. Junkrat shrieked, body writhing as he struggled to get away from the hands holding him down. It finally subsided and he blubbered, drool starting at the corner of his mouth. 

The woman smirked down at him. “How about now?” 

Junkrat didn’t answer, craning his neck to try and bite her. She tisked and another wave of pain went through him, causing his body to jerk violently. 

“We can do this all night if you want. Your friend isn’t coming for you,”

-

A light flickered incessantly in the display case that Roadhog was trying to browse, making it difficult to concentrate. He finally grabbed a handful of packages that looked particularly good and continued to where the drinks were stored. He could feel the uneasy eyes of the cashier on him and revelled in their fear. 

As he was browsing he was hit with a certain whim to ask Junkrat if he wanted anything particular. Usually he was content with anything Roadhog presented but Roadhog also usually didn’t bother asking. There was a pause as he considered how much of a nuisance it would be then pulled out his phone, deftly hitting buttons that seemed too small for him to navigate. 

‘What do you want?’ 

Roadhog grunted, scouring a few more cases before checking for a response. Nothing. Odd, usually Junkrat tripped over himself to respond to messages, always with way more than was asked or wanted from him. Maybe he was on the shitter. 

‘You have 1 minute or you get jack shit’ 

Roadhog was running out of store to look through but he dutifully waited out the minute before checking again, annoyance growing when there was nothing. What was Junkrat doing? Surely he hadn’t fallen asleep. If he had, Roadhog would shake him awake. 

These stupid cellphones. Junkrat had insisted they get them after one incident of losing each other that had taken all day to rectify. Roadhog had not been pleased and in that fit of frustration had agreed to blowing their money on the damn things. Junkrat was surprisingly stingy unless it came to a sudden whim. 

Honestly, with all the food he consumed Roadhog took up more of their money. He had called fifty-fifty when they first met, but Junkrat never mentioned the uneven split. And he only pulled the boss thing when it came to shit like the radio station. Always let Roadhog choose where they ate, too. He was pretty considerate for a smelly, disorganized little shit. 

Junkrat still hadn’t texted back. Roadhog gave a grunt of frustration, opening the phone and staring at it. There was no way he was just off taking a shit. His brow furrowed and he sent another message. 

‘?’ 

A dawning feeling of suspicion came over him. He looked at the food in his arms then dropped it onto the floor, turning around and stomping out of the store. Something wasn’t right. 

-

Even though Roadhog knew where he was going on the way back, the trip felt twice as long as it had wandering the streets. Every other minute he glanced at the phone, just in case, but he had a bad feeling there wasn’t going to be any stream of texts telling him everything was fine. Had he gotten too lax? 

Roadhog had just come in sight of the hotel when there was a sudden movement just outside of his peripheral. Just as he turned his head in its direction a figure in black came at him, a crackling sound filling the air as they swung a baton. It connected with Roadhog’s side, giving him a powerful electric shock that made him cry out angrily. 

Whatever hopes the man had for incapacitating Roadhog were shattered as he turned an enraged look down at him, reaching out despite the jolts going through him and grabbing their wrist. There was a crunch and a scream as Roadhog squeezed hard enough to break it, making them drop it to the ground. He lifted them up, swinging around and throwing their body into another figure in black that was trying to sneak up from his other side. Both of them went sprawling to the ground. 

This was fucked up. Something had happened and it had taken him so long to get back from the store that it might already be too late. 

His pace quickened as he came in sight of their room, but strange sounds from behind the door gave him pause. It was maybe half a second and then he was moving again, thick fist grabbing the doorknob so hard it nearly gave in his grasp. The sounds had grown in volume, painting a chilling picture for what he could expect. 

There was no way it could be as bad as it sounded, no way it could get louder, but as he threw the door open, shoving so hard with his shoulder that the measly lock snapped instantly, the cries from the room seemed to reverberate off of his bones. Roadhog stared uncomprehendingly at the men, the woman bent over the bed, and Junkrat writhing and screaming and then-- 

Something snapped. Roadhog let out a furious roar and grabbed the man closest to him, slamming his head hard enough into the wall his helmet crunched. He had barely fallen to the floor when Roadhog grabbed another, cracking his neck and shoving him into the remaining man who yelled something unintelligible and began firing at him. 

One of the bullets nicked Roadhog’s arm before he grabbed the gun, holding it in a vice grip and squeezing until the metal dented under his fingers. He ripped it from the man’s grip and threw it away, grabbing his hook and slicing at him. He got him in the jugular and the man let out a gurgling cry, thrown to the side just as carelessly as Roadhog turned his attention on the woman. 

“ _ Mierda! _ ” She pulled wires back into her wrist, turning a sharp look to Roadhog. Just as he threw his hook at her, she blipped out of existence. The metal swung in the air uselessly and he pulled it back to himself, letting out a brutal yell. 

Roadhog breathed hard, stomping over to the space she’d just been standing in and looking down helplessly at Junkrat. He was gibbering on the bed, body shaking as though he was still being hurt. His eyes were far off, locked in the pain he’d been in. Drool collected at the side of his mouth. 

This was all wrong. Roadhog didn’t know what to do. He barely knew how to fix people up after getting hurt let alone pull Junkrat out of something like this. He watched as Junkrat turned and started to curl in on himself, looking like a pitiful animal. It revolted Roadhog, though something pinged deep inside him as part of what kept him there every day. 

The sounds Junkrat made were gradually quieting, but he was still trapped in the moment. His eyes, glassy and unfocused, glanced in Roadhog’s direction and seemed to catch on them. Roadhog gave a quiet grunt, incapable of saying anything at the moment, and they latched onto him. He grunted again because it was all he could do. He watched as Junkrat slowly pulled himself out of the muck in his brain. 

Junkrat’s eyes locked on the mask and Roadhog felt him staring through it, right into his gaze. It was almost too much, but he didn’t look away. Junkrat was the first to say something. 

“Not so bad, mate,” he started in a warble of a voice. “Not as bad as when I lost my gam.” 

His breathing began picking up again and he sank back into the mire of his mind. He began to whimper, sharp little terrified sounds that made something slow and sluggish squirm in Roadhog’s gut. He turned sharply and went to the bag he’d only half remembered to bring into the room, digging around in it until he found a canister. After staring at it for a moment he returned to Junkrat. 

Roadhog knelt down next to the bed heavily, reaching up and unclasping his mask. He placed a hand as gently as possible under Junkrat’s head before pulling the mask off of his face, dragging in a wheezing breath as he fixed it over Junkrat’s instead. The canister was brought to the side and Roadhog locked it in place, turning it to release the chemicals. 

Junkrat gasped the medication in, coughing hard at the chemical taste, but soon his body began to relax. It was working. Roadhog waited until the medication had been used up to disconnect the canister and throw it to the side, pulling his hand from under Junkrat’s head and sitting down on the floor with his back facing him. He couldn’t look at him anymore. 

After all the misadventures they’d had and the dangerous situations they’d barely gotten out of, nothing like this had ever happened before. Roadhog had never failed at protecting Junkrat. But the thing that settled most heavily over him was the fact that until now, no one had ever gone after him. No one like  _ that.  _ There was no doubt in his mind that someone knew what Junkrat had found in the desert. And he doubted they would stop after one failed attempt. 

Roadhog sat there all night, listening to the sound of Junkrat breathing and contemplating how in the hell to keep him safe after he was gone. 


End file.
